


Belonging

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Human Experimentation, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Some dark themes, Sort Of, allusions to past abuse, at least at the begining, confusing feelings, discussion of forced insemination, it gets better afterwards, more like werewolf experimentation, nothing explicit though, slighty dark, some allusions to past violence, some side johnlock, the begining is the darkest part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-04-08 17:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Mycroft never thought he’d truly belong somewhere.He just can hope he was sorely mistaken.





	1. Luck

**Author's Note:**

> So… this. I’m suffering a bit of writer’s block on my other story and what’s the best cure for writer’s block? Why, start another fic, of course!  
> That actually might be a bad idea, but well… I really liked this plot bunny and I figured I’d give it a shot. I think it won’t be overly long, but we’ll see, I suppose ;)  
> Enjoy!

Recovering consciousness comes in fits and starts.

He’s distantly aware his whole body is aching in unpleasant ways, but the pain doesn’t settle in until he tries to sit up, which promptly makes him lose consciousness all over again.

When he wakes up next, he knows better and so he remains lying on the floor, taking mental inventory of his injuries. There seems not to be any noticeable external damage, which means they’ve been messing with his internal organs  _ again.  _ Better than when they mess up with his head, he supposes, but not by far.

From what he can gather, it must be sometime in the wee hours of the morning. The lab is in near complete darkness, the only light coming from a badly closed window. Mycroft stares at it wistfully, wondering, not for the first time, about the merits of escaping, before quickly dismissing the thought as all the times before.

There’s nothing out there for him.

He takes a deep breath and promptly regrets it, the stench of blood and half decaying bodies filling his nostrils. He has gotten used to the smell, to an extent, but there are times-

From the corner of his eye, he can see one of the operating tables. From this angle, he can’t see the body on top of it, but he remembers all too well the sounds he made while the humans… 

He closes his eyes, fighting off a wave of nausea and hurrying to look away. You would think that after all these years in captivity he has become immune to such sights, but the truth is that, no matter how much time he passes here or what cruelties he witnesses, he’ll never get used to it.

He supposes he’s lucky, in a way. If being seen as too valuable and rare to kill can be called being  _ lucky. _

Most of the time, he doesn’t think so.

* * *

 

Unlike most of the  _ experimental subjects,  _ Mycroft has no memory of the world outside or of a life before this, which is why he doesn’t even try to resist when the guards come to fetch him every morning. He grew up in the lab, so he has gotten used to the constant physical and mental examinations, the cruel treatment and the constant experimentation. He has far too many scars to keep count and some of them look rather gruesome due the fact they’ve been opened and sutured once again shortly after. Being just half werewolf, he doesn’t heal as quickly or as efficiently as full breed ones, which doesn’t mean he gets treated any different than them.

Except of course, for the fact that they won’t kill him.

He sits on the examination table and follows the doctor’s instructions to the letter. The woman takes notes on the chart she’s carrying, humming approvingly every now and then. He can hear another  _ subject  _ thrashing and screaming just a room over and he tries not to pay them any mind. It hasn’t gotten easier with time, but he has learned ignoring the others helps him deal with what the physiatrist calls  _ survivor’s guilt.  _ Mycroft isn’t sure that’s the correct term, but he has learned not to argue with the humans: he’s far smarter than all of them put together and that makes them wary and resentful.

The door opens and Mycroft holds back an scared whimper. He has become more or less immune to the cruelness of the average member of the facility’s staff but Dr. Magnussen is a whole different story. “Everything seems to be in working order,” the doctor examining him informs the other man. “I believe we can proceed as programmed.”

Mycroft tries not to frown at the news. What are they planning now? 

“Very well,” Dr. Magnussen says, taking the chart from her, reading it over. “How long before the next Heat?” Mycroft freezes, his stomach clenching unpleasantly. What-

“A couple of weeks,” the female doctor says with a careless shrug. “I have the… ah…  _ volunteers’ _ files in my office, if you want to see them.”

Magnussen hums. “I don’t particularly care, as long as one gets the job done.” He looks at Mycroft, his cold cruel eyes burning into his very soul and the half werewolf can’t quite contain a shiver, which prompts a dark smirk from the man.

That can’t be good.

No good at all.

* * *

 

The thing is, human experimentation is illegal.

Werewolves, however, aren’t considered humans, even though biologically they’re pretty similar, which makes them the perfect subjects for all kinds of experiments.

Most werewolves clans went into hiding ages ago, but humans have been hunting them for just as long. The official estimates place the werewolf population all across the UK in less than 5,000 but of course, there’s no way to know for sure.

Half werewolves, such as Mycroft, are even rarer. 

He has a very good idea of what the humans are planning and the idea fills him with dreed. The less present the werewolf gene is in a subject’s blood, the most useful they are, seeing they’re even more similar too full humans, which is the main reason they’ve kept him alive for so long. Any child of his will be even closer to a human, as long as they had a human parent, of course, hence the need for  _ volunteers. _

He’s not worried for himself; he has long ago divorced himself from his body and the many humiliations and hurt  it has suffered, but if he was to have a pup… 

He could never handle that. Bad enough was that he couldn’t protect his brother, it had driven him nearly insane to watch Sherlock suffer and to think of letting his pup suffer the same torture at the hands of this… this…  _ monsters _ …

It simply won’t do.

There might not be anything for him outside this lab and in fact being out might be more dangerous for him, but now that it’s not just his life on the line…

Well. He has no other choice but escape.

* * *

 

The thing is, Mycroft is a half breed.

The fact alone makes him a bit of an abomination to both races: neither humans nor werewolves would consider him as one of them. If you add the fact he was conceived and carried pretty much against his parent’s will… well. It makes his situation even trickier.

He doubts he could run as far away as to start a life posing as human and not have someone recognizing him. He has spent his whole life in several labs all across the country and if he was to escape, he has no doubt there’ll be some bounty on his head. He could never join a pack either, even assuming he’d be able to find one, so his only option would be…

Living on the run doesn’t sound very tempting, but staying is no longer an option.

So he plans his next move carefully, waiting patiently for the next weekend, when he knows the lab will be mostly empty, making his plan most likely to succeed. He knows there’s no room for any mistakes and while a lot of it depends on mere luck and good timing, it’s the best plan he can come up with such short notice.

All he can do now is pray and hope for the best.

* * *

 

Mycroft is falling asleep when he hears the lab’s door opening. A couple of men (mercenaries if he had to take a guess) walk in, carrying between them an unconscious female. The woman’s blond hair is dirty with blood from a wound on her head, but he doubts that’s the cause of her state (again, if he had to venture a guess, he’d say she was drugged). She makes a small noise when the men drop her in the small cage next to Mycroft’s and he finds himself growling at them for their carelessness. The men however, pay him no mind and exit the room just as quickly as they came in, leaving them alone.

He bites his lip, uncertain of what to do. Whenever a new  _ test subject _ is brought into the lab, he does his very best to ignore them, knowing they won’t be around for long and not wanting to feel even worse than he already will when they’re gone, but he can’t quite bring himself to ignore this particular female, not seeing the state she’s in.

Her abdomen has barely swollen and there’s no telling what the rough treatment she no doubt received before being brought here might have done to the pup she’s carrying, but he can detect the light scent of the pup and that tugs at his heartstrings.

He sighs, moving closer to the other werewolf. The cages are a couple of feet apart, so there’s no much he can for her, but he figures he can try to keep an eye on her and try to get her to calm down when she wakes up, so one of the night guards might not hurt her further for making too much noise.

It’s not much and not even close to enough, but it’s all he can do.

* * *

 

The female’s name is Harriet, she’s 31 and 5 months pregnant. She and her mate, Clara, were attacked while on a supply run for their pack, but the Alpha seems to have managed to escape, or at least that’s what Harry hopes. If she did, Harry is confident someone will come looking for her and so, while scared, she’s not terrified.

Mycroft wishes he could share her optimism, but he knows that that’s unlikely. Still, he doesn’t say a word, simply letting the woman talk to her heart content, since it seems to make her relax and that, he figures, is a positive thing.

Meanwhile, he ponders over the merits of bringing her with him when he escapes. He can not, in good conscience, leave her to her fate, particularly in her state, but at the same time, he knows it'd complicate things immensely.

He sighs, knowing he’s going to have to risk it.

Nothing for it, he supposes.

* * *

 

As it turns out, Harry wasn’t being overly optimistic: she only has full confidence on her pack and said pack steps up to the challenge.

He hasn’t been able to sleep properly ever since his last encounter with Dr. Magnussen, so when he hears the door clicking open, he immediately sits up, frowning a little, wondering why would any of the doctors come in so late at night. 

It’s not a doctor the one coming in, though, but a huge gray wolf. Mycroft blinks, startled and more than a little impressed: he’s seen several werewolves in his life, of course, but never one quite like this one. He’s an Alpha and he stalks into the room with such ease and confidence that he immediately becomes convinced he’s seeing a pack’s leader.

In the cage next to him, Harry makes a delighted sound and the wolf turns to stare at her. For a few beats, nothing happens and then the grey wolf lets out a soft howl, which Mycroft assumes is a command for the wolves standing guard outside the room to come in.

Another couple of Alphas come in, both hurrying towards Harry’s cage. One of them, a male with golden fur, licks the female face affectionately, making her giggle. “Stop it John,” Harry murmurs, pushing him away. “I’m fine,” she adds and the male makes a huffing sound, obviously not believing her. She giggles, scratching behind his ear and the male makes an undignified sound before moving away.

The other Alpha meanwhile has turned back into her human form and is busy picking the lock. She works quickly and efficiently, her lip caught between her teeth. When the lock clicks open, she smiles, pleased with herself and moves away so Harry can step out.

Mycroft watches the whole scene without daring to move. He’s in awe and perhaps a tiny bit envious. He has never quite fully grasped the meaning of being part of a pack, but if this is what it means…

Well. His heart aches a little at the thought of he never getting to have that.

The grey wolf makes another sound, making the other werewolves turn to him. Harry has turned into her wolf form already, but the other female is still standing next to the cage, still holding the small pin she used to pick the lock close to her chest.

Harry and her brother (or at least Mycroft thinks he’s her brother) are looking between the grey wolf and the other woman curiously, while they seem to hold an entirely silent conversation. Finally, the woman huffs and moves towards Mycroft’s cage, starting to work on opening the lock right away.

Mycroft stares at her, unbelieving, his back pressed against the wall. He had thought the other werewolves would simply leave, letting him be and now… now…

Well, now he’s not sure what’s happening.

When the door opens, the female shifts back to her wolf form and moves next to Harry once more, rubbing their muzzles together. Harry makes a pleased sound and Mycroft can’t help the small smile that comes unbidden to his lips: he might not have known the female for long, but he’s happy to see she’ll be fine.

A growl makes him turn to look at the leader once more, fear crawling over his spine. The other three wolves hurry out of the room and Mycroft presses himself even more against the wall, not exactly scared but a little worried. He knows he’s not match for the other werewolf and if he attacks him he has no hope of winning, but he’s not sure why would the other attack. He knows he’s a half breed, but-

He makes a small sound when the Alpha approaches him, something between a growl and a whimper and the wolf pauses. If he was capable of frowning, he probably would be doing that, but he still manages to convey his confusion. Mycroft doesn’t move, barely daring to breath and so the grey wolf approaches him once more, this time coming to stand next to him, nudging him forward.

Mycroft hesitates, unsure of the other’s intention. The werewolf makes a seemingly inquiring sound and he stares at him, frowning a little. “You… you want me to come with you?” he questions finally, hating the way his voice trembles.

The wolf rolls his eyes before nudging him once more and Mycroft bites his lip, before swifting. He’s not fond of his wolf form, since it’s entirely too small and  _ fragile  _ looking and he feels even more self conscious next to the powerful pack’s leader, but the grey wolf doesn’t seem overly concerned with it, just nudging him out of the cage once more and Mycroft hurries to obey, still nervous and somewhat wary.

The minute they step out of the room, the other 3 werewolves start running in the direction of the exit and Mycroft follows them swiftly, fully aware of the bigger wolf now covering their backs and he wonders just what has he gotten himself into.

Well, his own plan didn’t involve anything other than leaving the lab so…

He supposes he has nothing to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> The beginning is a bit… darkish but I promise the rest is not quite as dark. It’s not exactly happy either, but somewhere in the middle I should think :P If you have any particular concern or think I should add any other tags, let me know!  
> Thanks for reading, let me know what you thought, pretty please?  
> 


	2. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I’m not sure if it feels a bit off, since there’s a lot of exposition in the chapter and not nearly enough romance but well… all things considered, I suppose it makes some sense :P  
> Anyway, I hope you’ll like it!

He runs until it feels like his legs can no longer support him and then some more. His whole body is aching and breathing is becoming progressively more difficult, but he forces himself to carry on. In front of him he can see 3 of his rescuers, seemingly completely unaffected by the run (and yes, he had known he wasn’t in peak physical form, but he didn’t think he was in such bad shape) and he focuses on putting a paw in front of the other, even when the world starts turning into a blur with dark edges.

He’s vaguely aware of someone now walking next to him (he can’t run anymore) and his companion makes soft concerned noise, but Mycroft can’t focus on anything that’s not continue walking, knowing that if he gets distracted, even for a second, his tiredness will catch up with him and he’ll collapse on the ground.

Soon enough though, all his mental powerness stops working, his body finally succumbing to exhaustion and he’s out even before his head hits the ground.

* * *

 

Waking up is quite the experience.

Mycroft grew up in labs, always caged, without even a cot to lie on, let alone a mattress and certainly not sheets, so his first reaction after recovering consciousness is to try to get rid of said sheets and getting hopelessly tangled in them. He huffs, a little embarrassed, glad there seems to be no one around to witness his humiliation.

When he finally manages to untangle himself, he keeps sitting on the bed, testing the soft mattress and frowning a little. It’s comfortable, there’s no denying that, but he thinks it might take him some time to get used to the sheer  _ luxury _ of it.

Then again, he might not get to stay long enough to need to get used to it.

He frowns at the thought, looking around the room. He truly doesn’t understand the werewolves’ insistence of him coming along, but he’s grateful anyway, since it seems they did make it to safety. Whatever comes next, at least he managed to escape the lab.

He forces himself out of the bed, even if his legs feel a bit wobbly. He’s hungry and thirsty, but he’s not quite sure of his place here and so he wouldn’t want to push his luck, but-

“Oh, you’re awake!” someone exclaims cheerfully, startling him. The woman hurries to his side, since his legs seem about to give up on him once again and she apologises profusely for surprising him, although most of her idle chatter doesn’t truly register since he’s busy trying to get himself back on the bed.

She’s a redheaded woman, perhaps a whole decade younger than Mycroft. She smells like a particular sweet orange, which is a pleasant smell although it makes him a little dizzy. He’s used to the human’s practically non existent scent and the other werewolves’ scents at the lab were always soured by fear and pain, so…

“I’m Molly,” the female introduces herself, once she has got him to sit on the bed once more. “You do speak english, right?” he nods and she smiles some more. “Good. It’s always tricky when they speak other languages.”  _ They?  _ “What’s your name?”

“Mycroft,” he introduces himself simply, unsure of how he feels about the girl’s friendliness. She seems nice enough, but appearances can be deceiving, as he knows all too well.

“Well, Mycroft, nice to meet you,” she says, undeterred by his curt answer. “Do you have any family you’d like to try to contact? I can’t make any promises, but we’re in regular contact with a few packs-”

“No,” he interrupts, his heart constricting painfully in his chest at the reminder of his long gone brother. “I… no. I’m a half breed.”

She frowns at that and he doesn’t understand why. Surely these aren’t news to her? She must be able to smell he’s not a full werewolf. “Half breed is a horrible term humans use,” Molly explains, noticing his confusion. “Of course there are certain packs that believe we shouldn’t mix with humans, but that’s a dying belief. If nothing else, it keeps the genetic pool diverse.” She grins, as if sharing a especially funny joke, but Mycroft is frowning. He always thought- “Let me guess. All you know about werewolves come from what the humans told you?”

He nods, somewhat reluctantly. He knew better than to believe everything the humans told him, but- “I was born in a lab,” he murmurs softly. “My… my mother was a human researcher and so she was curious about… well, she offered herself to…” He gestures vaguely, feeling his ears burning, not particularly caring for the female’s pitiful look. “I never knew my werewolf father.”

Molly nods sympathetically. “It’s more common than you’d think,” she murmurs darkly, jaw clenched tightly. “Humans can be truly…  _ detestable.” _

That’s one way to call it. “So it’s safe to assume you’re not about to kick me out of your territory?”

The woman frowns. “No, why-? you know what, never mind. No, if you want to stay, you absolutely can. Or if you want to go somewhere, that’s fine too.”

He shakes his head, knowing there’s nowhere for him to go. They sit in silence for a few moments, Molly letting him process all he has learned, before she stands up, clapping her hands together. “Alright then. If you’re going to be part of the pack, you’re my responsibility now. I’ll go fetch my stuff and we’ll start with a quick physical, huh?” He winces, even though he tries to suppress it and the woman’s expression falls. “Oh. I… I didn’t mean… if you don’t want to-”

“It’s fine,” he argues, trying to smile encouragely. “I just… I trust the experience won’t be as bad as the ones I’m used to.”

He knows she wants to asks questions and if she’s indeed the pack’s doctor, she’ll have to, eventually. But for now, she seems willing to drop the subject, at least for a little while. “Alright. I’ll be back in a few.”

And with that she’s out of the room, leaving the door open, probably so he won’t feel trapped and he can’t help the small smile that comes unbidden to his lips.

Things are looking up.

He can only pray they’ll continue that way.

* * *

 

“Where are we? A sort of healing house?” Mycroft asks, trying to distract himself from what Molly is doing. Her touch is gentle and she hasn’t hurt him, actually stopping whenever he as much as flinches, but it’s still unnerving. After years of being  _ examined  _ by humans doctors, he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop and everything to go to hell.

“Oh, no,” Molly says, noting down something, trying not to look as concerned as she is and failing miserably. “It’s Greg’s house.”

As if that meant anything to him. “Greg?”

“Ah,” she says, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. Greg is the pack’s leader,” she explains, a wistful look on her face. “You met him last night. Ridiculously big, incredibly strong grey wolf?”

Sounds like someone has a bit of a  _ crush _ . “Yes,” Mycroft nods, remembering the grey wolf all too well. He wouldn’t use Molly’s words to describe him, but that’s mostly because he’d feel a bit embarrassed of his own thoughts. He can admit, however, he had been quite impressed by the wolf and he’d like very much to meet the man. “Wait,” he says, his brain finally catching up with what Molly first said. “His house?”

“Yes,” the female states, prodding at a particular impressive scar running down his thigh and noting down something once again. “After you fainted, he carried you here. We don’t have a proper healing house and you had nowhere else to stay, so...”

She trails off, continuing with her examination, completely oblivious to the mighty blush spreading across Mycroft’s cheeks. To think he had to be carried, like a helpless pup-

That line of thought gets interrupted by an even more troublesome one. “Wait. Whose room is this?”

Molly rolls her eyes dramatically. “He never sleeps much anyway, so don’t worry about it.” She smiles at him, seemingly satisfied with her examination for now. “Are you hungry?”

He’s starving really. Still, he doesn’t think it’d be very polite to say as much. “A little, yes.”

“Come on then.” She stares at him, brow slightly furrowed. “Do you want something to dress in? We don’t really bother with those things, particularly when the weather is this nice, but since you grew up with humans…”

He did grow up with humans, but they never treated him as if he was one of them, so he’s not used to covering himself, not even when the weather gets cold. “No, it’s fine.”

She nods, expression a bit troubled. “Alright. We’re a little past breakfast time, but I’m sure Martha will make an exception for us, given the circumstances.”

Mycroft nods, hurrying to follow after the doctor, hoping she’s right since his stomach is starting to ache a little. It’s not like he’s used to steady mealtimes, of course, but he hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday morning and considering all the running he did last night-

Well. Some food would certainly be welcomed.

* * *

 

The house is not as much as a house but a small private space in the town’s hall. The village isn’t particularly big, which is not unexpected considering they’re hiding deep in the woods and they wouldn’t want to drag someone’s attention by taking too much space. Most members of the pack’s live at their families’ homes, so there are just a few of them, although they’re quite big. Molly points at Harry and Clara’s house through the window when Mycroft asks about them and she informs him both Harry and her pup seem to be in good health, which makes Mycroft smile.

It’s funny how quickly people can bond under  _ stressful  _ situations.

The town’s hall has a small communal dinner room. It’s not big enough to fit everyone comfortably, Molly explains, and a lot of the pack’s members usually eat at their own homes, but everyone is welcomed here. They have a few of big celebrations through the year (births, weddings, stuff like that) and that’s when the whole town does gather together, but nobody really sits down during them, so-

The dining hall is empty when they come in and they sit down on the table next to the window. Molly is explaining a bit more of how the town works and Mycroft feels a little overwhelmed with all the things he’s learning. He has always known he’s particularly clever, but he has no practice whatsoever with social interactions, so he’s not quite sure-

Just then an older female enters, bringing trays filled with fruits and something that he thinks might be oatmeal. The woman introduces herself as Martha, the cook, and she fusses over Mycroft and how thin he is (he nearly scoffs at that, but manages to hold it back in the last second). She and Molly talk for a little bit before she disappears back into the kitchen, leaving them alone once more.

Mycroft is thankful for the short respite of silence while they eat. He likes Molly and she’s been very nice to him, but she’s a little too talkative and Mycroft isn’t used to really talking, so it’s a bit too much.

As they’re finishing their food, a man enters the room and Mycroft bites his lip rather harshly to stop an embarrassing sound from escaping him.  _ Attraction  _ is a concept he understands  _ theoretically  _ but has never really had the chance to actually experiment it (hard to, given his previous circumstances). The man is bit shorter than him but certainly stronger, with stern  _ handsome  _ features and a dashing friendly smile. His hair seems to have gone prematurely grey, because he certainly doesn’t look old enough to have a completely grey head, although he does look like the kind of man who carries a lot of responsibility over his shoulders.

If asked, Mycroft doesn’t think he could rationally explain it, but he feels immediately pulled towards this stranger. The physical appeal is undeniable, of course, but there’s something else… something he can’t quite pinpoint and yet...

“Hey Molly,” the man greets, sitting next to the female, smiling. “Hello,” he says, turning to Mycroft. “Glad to see you’re up. Had me a bit worried when you fainted.”

Oh. Oh god. This is the pack’s leader? This is the Alpha in front of which Mycroft has so thoroughly embarrassed himself?

It figures. “Thanks to you, I’m fine,” he says, trying to stop himself from blushing and the man smiles kindly.

“Least I could do, really,” Greg says, his smile entirely too dashing and Mycroft smiles back, a little nervous. In truth, there was no real reason for the other man and his group to even help him escape, but he figures he ought not to point that out.

“Thank you,” he murmurs softly and the other nods.

“So-”

“No family or pack,” Molly interrupts before the Alpha can ask any questions. “He seems to be in perfectly good health, although I’d like to pay Irene a visit later this month, so I can make sure everything is indeed in working order.”

Greg nods thoughtfully. “We’ll plan something,” he says, before turning to Mycroft once more. “And welcome to the pack.”

Mycroft bites his lip, a little overwhelmed with emotion. So far everyone has been kind and welcoming and yet he can’t help feeling it’s a little too good to be true.

How long before he wakes up from this wonderful dream?

* * *

 

He sits with Molly and Greg, going through the pack’s organization system and some cultural customs. Since he has no frame of reference of how packs actually work, he’s trying to memorize as much information as he can, so he won’t end up doing something stupid that could get him in trouble.

“There’s no need for you to worry,” Greg assures him, placing a hand over his arm and it takes every bit of his self control not to pull away. The touch is warm and gentle, but- “If you have any doubts or questions you can ask me or Molly and you don’t need to be scared: no one here will hurt you.”

“We have very strict policies against that, actually,” Molly points out.

Mycroft nods. “I just… it’s very different from what I’m used to.”

He stares at his now empty plate, not wanting to see the matching pitying looks on his companions’ faces. There’s a tense pause and he doesn’t particular care for the uncomfortable silence, so he figures he might as well ask the other question that’s troubling him. “About the housing situation-”

“Oh, you can stay here,” Greg says, waving a hand dismissively, as if it was no big deal whatsoever. “Until we can find a more long term arrangement, of course.”

“But-”

“The couch is more comfortable than what you’d think,” he says, smiling mischievously. “I really don’t mind. Besides, it’s only polite.”

Mycroft isn’t sure about that. “If you say so…”

“And we’ll find you something to do to pass the time, don’t worry about that,” the Alpha promises. “Everyone here has a job to do.”

Mycroft nods, the idea of doing something useful making him happy. For so long he has just sit idly, with nothing but his dark thoughts for company- “I really can’t thank you enough for everything.”

The pack’s leader is watching him with a funny expression on his face, but he doesn’t think it’s a bad thing. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see,” he tells him, patting his arm and Mycroft dares to smile a little.

He certainly hopes so.

* * *

 

Molly shows him around the hall and introduces him to everyone they run into. The place is big, but not overly so and there are a lot of rooms working as offices for various members of the pack. Running the town is no easy task, despite their low numbers and considering they need to be in constant vigil-

Still, Mycroft is amazed by how well thought the system is and how smoothly everything runs. They’re much better organized than the lab’s personel, that’s for sure and everyone does seem to have a job and they’re happy with it. 

With time, he’s certain he’ll come to really enjoy his life here, even if right now it feels like there’s too much going on and he’s not quite sure what to think of anything.

Before the night falls, Molly suggests another break for dinner and he agrees, having gotten used to eat whenever the chance presented itself, never quite sure when the next meal would come. That’s not how things work here, of course, but old habits die hard.

There’s still not a lot of people at the dinner hall and so he and Molly pick their earlier table once again. A few minutes later they’re joined by a familiar face and Mycroft smiles at the newcomer.

“Evening,” Harry greets, smiling back and dropping herself next to Molly. “How’s going?” she asks Mycroft and before he can answer, another female comes along, sitting next to the blond. 

“Hello,” the other woman greets, extending her hand for Mycroft’s to shake. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Clara.” 

“Mycroft,” he introduces himself. “Thank you for your help.”

Clara shrugs casually, throwing an arm around her Mate. “It was only right. Besides, from what I've been told, you kept Harry from doing something stupid, so I owe you big time.”

“That’s not-”

“Don’t try to argue with her,” Harry advices, smiling adoringly at the other woman. “This one is quite stubborn.”

“Says you,” Clara argues back good naturedly, rubbing their noses together, prompting laughter from Harry.

“Ugh. You guys are disgusting,” Molly states, but her tone is playful and the other females laugh, Harry bumping shoulders with her. It’s easy to see they’re close, although Mycroft is beginning to suspect everyone is quite close to everyone in town.

Just then they’re joined by another male, who takes a seat next to Mycroft since there are no other spaces left on the other side of the table. “I’m John,” he introduces himself. “Harry’s brother. As Clara has probably already said, we’re thankful for your help.”

“I really didn’t-”

“Really, don’t try arguing,” Harry interrupts good naturedly. “Neither will listen.”

“Now, that’s-” “We’re not-” both John and Clara say at the same time and Mycroft holds back his laughter. This practiced light hearted bickering is not something he can say he’s used to, but it’s heartwarming. He and Sherlock might have bickered a bit too, before-

Well. He doesn’t want to think about that.

He looks up then and finds yet another newcomer standing next to their table, staring at him open mouthed. Mycroft’s own jaw hits the floor, not quite daring to believe his eyes.

“Mycroft?” the newcomer asks softly, disbelief clear in his tone.

The way he scrambles for his brother is completely undignified and yet he couldn’t care less. He pulls the younger male into an impossibly tight hug and his heart skips a beat when Sherlock returns it after the briefest moment of hesitation. “You’re alive,” he whispers awedly, breathing his brother’s scent in deeply, heart hammering painfully inside his chest.

“So are you,” Sherlock murmurs back, his own nose buried in Mycroft’s neck. “I thought… I never thought…”

He can’t help the nervous, half hysterical giggle that escapes him then and soon they’re both laughing, their relief and happiness evident. It’s been nearly a decade since they last saw each other and he had thought- he had been told-

Well. It doesn’t matter anymore.

John clears his throat then, making them realize there are other people present and they hurry to pull apart, embarrassed from dragging everyone’s attention to themselves. John arches an eyebrow, amused and Sherlock huffs, gesturing for him to move along so he can sit next to his brother.

“You’ve met John, I see,” he says, sitting down. “He… we…”

“We’re mates,” John finishes for him, taking Sherlock’s hand in his. “So I guess, welcome to the family!”

Oh god. His baby brother is mated?

Sherlock blushes, muttering something under his breath which prompts laughter from his partner and Mycroft smiles, thinking once more than the future looks rather hopeful, although it still feels too good to be true.

All he can do is keep on praying that’s not the case.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I’m not quite sure about a few scenes, because they were a bit different in my head, although I can’t exactly say how- I just feel like I couldn’t capture everything I wanted to convey. Still, I think it works somewhat, right?  
> As I said, there’s still not much romance going on, but at least Greg and Mycroft have formally meet each other and they’re sort of living together so… well. Hopefully there’ll be a bit more of that soon enough ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought, pretty please?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I wrote most of it yesterday, but I felt it wasn’t really working so I decided not to edit nor to post it just yet. Now I’ve added a couple of scenes and rewrote certain parts and while I’m still not fully convinced about it, I think it works ;)  
> Enjoy!

He is happy, he thinks.

At least he should be. It’s not like he actually misses his life at the lab; what is there to miss, after all? The pain, the hurt, the humiliation? The constantly being talked down (if someone deigned to talk to him at all), the being treated as if he was something less than dirt?

It’d be sheer madness to miss that.

And yet, Mycroft must admit he feels at odds here. Back in the lab he knew his place and what was expected from him; no one ever took his thoughts or desires into consideration. It’s hard not to find this new life of his overwhelming, constantly wondering if he’s doing the right thing, worrying about overstepping invisible lines. 

He knows, rationally, it’ll become easier as time goes by, it’s a process of adapting to the new situation. But he’s not used to feeling out of his deep and that just makes him feel frustrated which in turn slows down the process.

He sighs, turning on his side and staring at the closed door. The bed is indeed quite comfortable and that’s, ironically, not very conductive for sleep: it’s just another reminder of how things have changed.

He can hear someone pacing outside the room, in what passes as the living room. Greg is talking quietly to himself, his voice too low for Mycroft to make out the words. He bites his lip, pondering if he ought to abandon his useless attempt of sleeping and go join the other man; he could certainly use the company and he enjoys the Alpha’s more than anyone else’s before. However, he quickly pushes the thought away: Greg probably has better things to do than entertain him.

He sighs, turning onto his stomach now, allowing himself to be comforted by the scent of his housemate, still lingering on the pillow. He takes slow deep breaths, willing himself to relax and close his eyes. He is tired, yes, but his brain refuses to quiet down, posing potential scenario after scenario.

_ It’s a process,  _ he sternly reminds himself.  _ You’ll be fine. Give it time. _

But it’s easier said than done.

* * *

 

“There’s just one last topic I need us to discuss,” Molly says, tone colored by concern and Mycroft has a very good idea what’s coming. For the last two days Molly has been asking question after question, trying to figure out his exact physical and mental state. The only subject left might be a bit… uncomfortable, but not for the reasons the doctor is probably thinking.

“Sexual history,” he supplies helpfully and Molly nods reluctantly. “I… I’ve never…” He takes a deep breath, “there was an instance in which someone nearly… but one of the doctors came in just then and… well. It was made very clear that that was off the table, at least right then.”

“What do you mean?”

Mycroft bites his lip, remembering his last examination. “I was given the impression the plan was to impregnate me during my next Heat,” he explains, his stomach turning unpleasantly. 

Molly looks angry for a beat, but she quickly smooths down her expression. “Well, that’s… it’s fortunate you’re here with us then.” She smiles reassuringly, patting his hand and Mycroft tries to smile back, hurrying to push back such unpleasant thoughts.

Molly notes something down, nodding to herself. “I’m glad to hear sexual assault is not something we need to worry about,” she says, looking at him once more. “You know, it’s actually quite unusual for hybrids to present secondary gender characteristics, but as far as I can tell, you’re a fully developed Omega, right?” Mycroft shrugs non committedly. “When did you have your first Heat?”

“When I was 16,” Mycroft replies. “And I’ve been pretty regular ever since.”

Molly nods. “Were you ever given some form of suppressants, inhibers or were induced?”

Mycroft frowns. He spent 35 years in labs, most of the time trying to ignore what was happening to him, so he doesn’t have the clearest memory of all the procedures he was subjected to. “I… don’t think so? I was given some type of hormones when I was around 20, but I can’t exactly recall…”

Molly nods once again. “A few blood tests are definitely in order, and I would like to get you an ultrasound and maybe even x-rays, but that’ll have to wait until we hear back from Irene,” she says, chewing her lip. “I think there’s nothing we need to worry about, though. Given the… plans they had for you, I’d think it’s safe to assume you were as in good health as possible.”

It’s a likely conjecture. Molly looks uncomfortable, though and Mycroft frowns, wondering what’s coming now. “I… Most Omegas your age have shared at least a couple of Heats with a partner. It’s just… it’s not exactly healthy to spend so much time without…” she waves a hand vaguely, her cheeks as red as her hair. “What I mean to say is, it might be advisable for you to find someone you’d like-”

“I don’t-”

“Not for this one, probably,” Molly hurries to interrupt. “Please, don’t feel like I’m… pressuring you or something, but it’d be my medical advice to find someone eventually.”

Mycroft blushes as the image of a particular _ someone  _ comes to mind. “How… how does that work? Isn’t mating for life? I don’t think-”

“Oh, well, mating yes,” Molly interrupts again, licking her lips nervously. “But… umm… well, among werewolves’ communities, is common for the youngsters to help each other out, so to speak, without any real intention of anything more serious. Of course Heat and Rut sharing is part of a proper courting process, but it’s not completely uncommon for friends to…” She shrugs casually. “As long as they don’t bite each other, it’s perfectly fine. I know it might sound a bit weird to someone who grew up surrounded by humans. They’ve have…  _ curious  _ ideas about sex.” She scrunches her nose in displeasure and Mycroft huffs.

_ Curious  _ is not what he’d call the humans’ ideas about anything, but he decides not to dwell on it for long. He meditates over Molly’s words, trying to decide how he feels about the idea. “I don’t know,” he confesses softly. “It’s not… I’m not sure I’d like that.”

“That’s fine,” Molly assures him, patting his hand once more. “You don’t need to make a decision right now. Just… keep in mind it’s an option and, medically, it’d probably be a good idea to try it eventually.”

Mycroft nods, deciding he might revise the subject later. For now though, he’s perfectly fine as he is.

His new life is different enough as it is, even if that’s not a bad thing.

* * *

 

Molly’s words keep replaying in his head though, even when he’s trying to avoid thinking about them. He had made his peace with the idea of being alone his whole life and now that the chance of actually having a partner is real enough, he’s not quite sure what to feel about it. 

His newfound libido isn’t helping things one bit.

People keep catching his attention whenever he ventures outside the town’s hall, although it’s nothing more than passing attraction. Now that he has finally allowed himself to really notice others, he’s constantly checking people out, which is more than a bit embarrassing. He doesn’t think he has a type, not really and so he just seems to notice  _ everyone. _

That’s not to say there’s not a special  _ someone  _ but his ridiculous crush on the man is… well, ridiculous. He and Greg do spend a great deal of time together, mostly because they live together and also because the Alpha seems to have taken upon himself to teach him everything he has missed while being captive. Of course, Molly does teach him about certain customs and social cues, but Greg knows a great deal on various subjects and Mycroft finds himself constantly asking questions, even if the knowledge is of little practical use.

It also doesn’t help that the man is far too charming for his own good, entirely too handsome and smells impossibly delicious. Mycroft wakes up more often than not in an uncomfortable state of arousal, surrounded by the Alpha’s scent (because the whole house smells of him, including the bedclothes) and trying to ignore said arousal often proves problematic. He hasn’t touched himself this much since he was a teenager and he had never actually  _ fantasize  _ about someone which is… well, odd and all kinds of embarrassing. He’s a full grown adult, he should have a better handle of his troublesome hormones!

On such a night, he allows himself to entertain the idea of asking Greg to share his Heat. He has no trouble imagining the Alpha pinning him down against the mattress, his reassuring weight on top of him, the sweet passionate kisses they would share. He wonders if Greg would go slow and gentle, making him melt into the embrace, taking his time to take Mycroft apart. Or perhaps he’d prefer to be a bit rougher, pounding into him with abandon, the house reverberating with the sound of their coupling.

He groans at the idea, burying his face on the pillow which of course has the effect of throwing him over the edge as the scent of the Alpha fills his nostrils. His whole body feels over sensitive, his orgasm much more powerful than any other he has ever experimented. He knows this increase on his libido is expected, considered he’s just a day away from his Heat, but it’s ridiculous how good it felt.

He stares at the ceiling, feeling weightless, full of content. He can only imagine how actually being with the other man would make him feel, but he knows that’s a ridiculous thought. Greg is the pack’s leader, he probably has much better prospects than a half breed who wasn’t particularly handsome to start with and that now has so many scars no one could possibly find him attractive.

And even if the other man agreed, out of some sense of duty or  _ friendship  _ or worse, pity _... _

He knows instinctively the Alpha would be good to him and wouldn’t take advantage of his inexperience, even if, rationally, he also knows they haven’t known each other long enough for him to trust him so completely. Still, this irrational pull he feels towards the other man insists it would be fine (better than fine, really), urging him to just go ahead and ask. But that would complicate things and that’s the last thing he wants right now.

Werewolves might believe in  _ casual sex _ between friends, but Mycroft is already too gone on a man he barely knows for it to truly stay casual. With time, he’s confident his little silly crush will pass, but he should do nothing that might fed the fire.

Maybe, he thinks, one day he’ll find someone he’d like to ask to share a Heat without feeling anything more for them, but right now…

He’s better off on his own. Medically it might not be ideal, as Molly said, but he’s fairly certain none of the experiments he was part of were medically ideal either, so...

He’ll be fine, really.

* * *

 

“Are you sleeping well?” Greg asks over breakfast the following morning and Mycroft does his damn best to avoid looking him in the eye. It’d be… weird, considering his late night thoughts and he rather hopes avoiding clueing in the other man into his  _ crush. _

“Well enough,” he answers with a small shrug. “I’m just… it’s odd, sleeping on an actual bed.”

Greg smiles kindly. “That’s a good thing, though, right?”

Mycroft nods, unwilling to share his full thoughts. It’s a good thing, yes, but whenever he goes to bed at night, he spends some time convincing himself this is real and that going to sleep won’t make it all disappear.

“Are you going into town later? Go visit your brother, maybe?”

Mycroft shrugs non committedly. Everyone he has met has been… kind to him, but he’s getting frustrated with all the pitying glances he keeps receiving and he’s not really used to interacting with others, so he gets people-weary quickly enough.

“I’m not feeling in the mood, really,” he murmurs softly. “Besides, my Heat is coming up…” he shrugs non committedly, just as another idea hits him. “I… I probably should have asked sooner. When… I mean…” he blushes furiously and his companion seems to understand what he’s getting to, because he blushes a little too.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” he says, in his usual flippant manner. “I’ll be out of your hair for the duration of it,” he promises earnestly. “And I’ll ask Martha to stay around, in case you need anything.” He frowns, considering something. “If you’re spending it on your own, of course.”

Mycroft huffs. “Who would I ask?” he questions, aiming to sound flippant. “It’s not like… I mean… I’ve just arrived here.”

Greg chuckles good naturedly. “Well, it’s not like you’re asking someone to marry you,” he argues, smiling. “I’m sure anyone would jump at the chance to help you out.”

Mycroft frowns, unsure how to interpret that. “I’ve never… I just don’t think I’d feel comfortable.”

Greg nods. “Understandable, I suppose. Maybe once you’re more familiar with other members of the pack, you’ll feel more comfortable with asking someone.”

Mycroft hurries to push last night’s thought away, reminding himself of all the reasons why that’d be a bad idea. “Perhaps,” he agrees simply, trying to return the other’s reassuring smile, ignoring the way his stomach keeps on flipping funnily.

“Well then,” Greg says, standing up and Mycroft forces himself not to allow his eyes wander down his companion’s body. “I better be going.” He squeezes Mycroft’s shoulder once and then walks out of the dinning hall, greeting the few people that are around this early in the morning.

Mycroft sighs, resting his head between his hands. He’s in desperate need of a distraction (or several) because sitting idly with just his thoughts for company is going to drive him mad. 

Maybe he’ll visit his brother after all.

If nothing else, it’ll stop him from entertaining silly thoughts.

* * *

 

Sherlock’s family home (or rather, John’s) isn’t terribly big, which is why he had declined his brother’s offer to move in with them, at least for the time being. In truth, the place is probably big enough but it’s currently a bit cramped since there are a few remodelations going on. 

He greets Clara at the entrance and the Alpha grins brightly at him before going back to her work. Harry is sitting by the porch, watching her Mate work, rubbing her belly affectionately and she points him in the direction of the backyard, where he finds his brother working on the garden.

Sherlock takes a look at him and that’s probably enough for him to know how troubled he is, for he only rolls his eyes dramatically before offering him some garden tools and instructing him to get to work.

It’s… weird. He has no real clue what he’s doing, but he follows Sherlock’s directions to the letter, focusing on the work and so keeping his mind blissfully blank. Finally, when the sun is high in the sky and staying outdoors means risking getting overheated, his brother announces it’s time for a break.

“It’s difficult at first,” Sherlock says after a few minutes sitting in companionable silence. “It’s just so different to everything you’re used to, even if it’s in a good way,” he says, staring at the glass of water he’s holding. “It takes some time to accept it’s really happening.”

Mycroft huffs, taking a sip from his own water. “It’s… there are just so many  _ options.  _ Making choices, deciding for yourself, interacting with others…”

Sherlock chuckles at that. “You were always so antisocial.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes, even though the comment makes him ache a little. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to interact with others, it was just wiser not to: if you don’t care, you can’t hurt as much.

He grabs his brother by the wrist, his fingers pressing against the pulse point, reassuring himself he’s really here, really alive. “Will you tell me what happened after they took you away?” he asks softly, not quite meeting the other’s eyes.

“There’s not much to tell,” Sherlock whispers, staring at the wall. “I was unconscious for the most part of the trip, but I… we were intercepted by a group of werewolves who were on a hunting trip. John says they saw one of the humans hitting one of my traveling companions and they figured they couldn’t let them simply go, even if it posed a risk for them.” He shrugs non committedly. “I don’t really remember any of it. I just… I woke up and realized I had been freed. I decided to come along with the pack because I had nowhere else to go, although I… Mycroft, I didn’t… if I had known where you were-”

“It’s fine,” he hurries to assure him, squeezing his wrist. “I just… I’m glad you were rescued.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Sherlock tells him, smiling a little. “You’ll be fine soon enough, you’ll see.”

Mycroft nods. It’s a process, he understands and overall he thinks he’s doing rather well. There are things that seem a bit more challenging than others and he wishes all these new things he’s experimenting weren’t as confusing and didn’t make him feel quite as much, but he’s confident it’ll get better.

He just needs time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I fear it’s a bit all over the place; I’m not sure I managed to make all the ideas connect properly. Let me know what you thought, pretty please?  
> Since I’ve started at my new position, I can’t say for sure when I’ll be able to update again: while allegedly I have more work now, I still haven’t been told what exactly I’ll be doing, so… well. Next update might come real soon or might take a bit, depending on what my new boss says ;)  
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! Took me a bit longer than I anticipated, but I struggled a bit with where I wanted this chapter to go. There was a scene that was just not coming together and I decided to leave it for later notice, since I have no clue whatsoever how to write it but the ending might feel a bit abrupt due that.  
> Anyway… I hope you’ll enjoy it ;)

“What are you doing here?!”

Mycroft blinks, looking up from his half eaten breakfast. He still feels a bit groggy and tired, certainly not in the mood to be answering any questions, never mind who is doing the questioning. “Having breakfast?” he says, raising his bowl of porridge and showing its contents to his interlocutor, feeling confused but not particularly concerned about the other man’s obvious worry.

Greg looks slightly frustrated, as if Mycroft is being deliberately difficult. “No, I meant--” he starts, but interrupts himself sharply, sniffing the air, staring at Mycroft curiously. “Oh. You are… I thought you might still be…” he trails off awkwardly, a slight blush covering his cheeks. “It’s only been two days,” he finishes finally, as if that meant something.

Not that Mycroft is terribly interested in an explanation, seeing he’s practically falling asleep on his feet. He’s tired, terribly so, but when he had woken up he had felt ravenous and seeing there had been no one with him, he had followed his nose to the dinner hall. Martha had been busy cooking breakfast and she might have looked as concerned as Greg looked when he first spotted him, although he hadn’t cared at the moment either. 

“Are you alright?” Greg asks, sitting next to him, brow furrowed. Mycroft shrugs non committedly, forcing himself to eat another spoonful of porridge although he’s more tired than hungry now. A side effect of Heat, normal enough as far as he’s concerned and certainly not worrisome.

“Fine,” he answers finally, when Greg just keeps staring at him worriedly. “Tired. You know… the usual after a Heat.”

Greg’s frown deepens, staring at him intently. “It’s not, actually. But then Heats tend to last a week or so, so this,” he gestures vaguely at him, “isn’t normal either.”

“That sounds awful,” Mycroft comments, his eyelids drooping on their own accord and next thing he knows he’s being lifted up by a pair of strong arms. He tenses briefly, but he gets a whiff of Greg’s Alpha scent and he immediately relaxes into the embrace, resting his nose against the other’s man neck. “You smell real nice,” he murmurs sleepily, nuzzling at his companion’s jaw, something he’d never do if he had full control of his body.

“Sleep,” Greg instructs simply, holding him close and starting to walk in the general direction of the room. They get a few curious stares from the few werewolves scattered around the dinner hall, but they quickly lose interest, going back to their meals.

Mycroft notices all of this as if in a dream. Later he’ll remember and feel embarrassed for it, but for now he hums happily to himself, falling asleep before they reach Greg’s living area.

He feels warm and safe and that’s more than enough for now.

* * *

 

He had never liked Heats, the reasons too many to count. It made him acutely aware of his werewolf nature and it was all kinds of embarrassing to be reduced to a sobbing mess because he was aching for something. The human doctors and researchers ignored him for the most part and only occasionally conducted any experiments on him while in that state, but some of the security members often taunted him cruelly. It made him feel even less human than usual and while there was a part of him that had always been proud of not being fully human, after seeing all the horrible things they were capable of, on moments like those--

The worst part, however, was probably the aftermath, when he felt too weak to perform the most basic tasks. He often went a couple of days without eating, because he couldn’t hold the bowls, let alone any utensils and he’d spend those days covered in bodily fluids since he couldn’t walk and so nobody would take him to the bathroom.

It was… distressing, to say at least.

He didn’t expect things to be the same here, of course, but he’s still a bit surprised to have Greg seeing to his every need. The Alpha constantly checks on him, bringing him food and water and helping him eat and drink when he feels too weak to do it for himself. He carries him to the bathroom and helps him despite Mycroft’s many protests, not quite comfortable with the situation. He’s in no state to be doing things for himself, though and so he eventually relents, accepting the Alpha’s help with minimal fuss.

It’s nice, if a little embarrassing.

Even more distressing though, is how clingy he’s getting. Of course back in the labs he was used to being alone, his need for touch and comfort completely ignored, so he never noticed how much the craving for contact increased after a Heat. Now though-

He pulls Greg into the bed with him at any given opportunity, snuggling close and burying his face against the older man’s neck. Greg doesn’t seem particularly troubled, sometimes seeming downright inviting and so Mycroft figured there was no real harm in indulging. Once he’s feeling better he’ll probably feel too awkward to get anywhere near the pack’s leader, but for the moment--

Well. Why can’t he enjoy it while it last?

* * *

 

Three days later, he wakes up feeling oddly refreshed. He stretches out until he hears his back make a satisfying pop and he looks around the room absentmindedly, feeling entirely at ease.

“Feeling better?” Greg asks, leaning casually against the room’s entrance, a pleasant smile on his lips. Mycroft blushes furiously, the memories of the last few days coming forward and he nods, avoiding the Alpha’s eye.

“Good,” Greg announces, either completely oblivious to Mycroft’s uncomfortableness or deciding it’s better to pretend these last few days hadn’t happened at all. “You need to get dressed, we’re going to a human town.”

Mycroft freezes at the news, all his feelings of ease and contentment evaporating right away. Greg was busy looking into the wardrobe Mycroft hadn’t even realized existed, but he turns around sharply, probably noticing the change of air. 

“Everything alright?” Greg asks after a brief tense silence, approaching him warily, a mighty from on his face. “Mycroft?” he prompts when the other fails to say a word, too busy quietly panicking.

Greg sits on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on Mycroft’s elbow, startling him out of his silent revery. He turns to his companion with wide, frightened eyes and Greg slides closer, pulling him into an awkward hug. Mycroft lets out a soft whimpering sound and he immediately chides himself for his foolish behaviour: he trusts Greg, he’s certain he doesn’t mean any harm and if he wants them to go to the human town for some reason… well, there’s no need for him to react this way.

“It’s fine,” Greg assures him, rubbing his back. “I’d say we don’t need to go if you don’t want to, but I really want Irene to check on you. Just to make sure everything is working fine.” Mycroft frowns at the wording but nods, telling himself once more he’s being silly. “Sorry, I just-” He shakes his head, slightly frustrated with himself for his completely illogical reaction. “It’s fine.”

Greg makes a face but doesn’t argue, just patting his shoulder awkwardly. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right next to you the whole time,” he promises earnestly, smiling. “Now, let’s find you something to wear, huh?”

Mycroft nods, still feeling somewhat nervous but unwilling to show it.

It’ll be fine.

He’ll be perfectly safe.

There’s nothing to worry about.

* * *

 

He steps out of the room some immeasurable time later, Greg having left him on his own to pick out the clothes he wants to wear. There isn’t much of a variety to choose from, but Mycroft had never been faced with the prospect of actually dressing, so he spent a good time examining every item, taking notice of the textures and the colors, trying to decide which ones he liked better.

Clothes are… weird, to be completely honest. It just seem so terribly human and so completely unnecessary-- in the very likely event he needs to start running, doing so in his wolf form would be far much more effective and clothes will only get in the way. The weather is mildly enough, thankfully, since he doesn’t think being dressed would be very comfortable if it was hot outside.

There is one good thing about wearing clothes though: they cover his scars quite nicely. Not that that does much for his appearance or attractiveness, but at least this way he won’t get  curious  _ pitiful  _ stares, nor will he drag much attention to himself.

He finds Greg waiting for him, sitting on the old couch he insists on sleeping on. He has put on some clothes too and Mycroft’s throat goes dry at the sight. He thinks it might be silly, to find the werewolf so much more attractive fully clothed than when he’s completely naked, but then again, he has somewhat gotten used to his companion’s regular appearance while this… 

Well. This is a whole new side of the Alpha.

Greg looks up from the book he’s reading and his eyes go wide at the sight of Mycroft, which is something he’s not sure how to feel about. The older man looks at him up and down, making Mycroft feel a little self conscious, pulling at the suit jacket he’s wearing awkwardly. “Is this… is something wrong?” he asks nervously, not quite meeting his companion’s eye.

“No,” Greg hurries to assure him, a light rose colour dusting his cheeks. “You look great, really. It’s… umm… are you sure you’re comfortable in that?”

Mycroft looks down at his outfit, a light frown on his face. He’s wearing a soft gray suit, with a vivid blue shirt. He had decided against the matching vest that went underneath the jacket, thinking it might be too much. He has an unmade tie wrapped around his neck, since he had no idea how to tie it, but he thought it would go well with the rest of the clothes. “Yes?” he says, biting his lip and Greg gulps rather audibly, which he finds most puzzling.

“Right,” the Alpha murmurs, sounding oddly breathless. “Let me help you with that,” he says, gesturing at the tie. He steps closer, his scent tinged with something Mycroft can’t identify and he hurries to do the knot, looking somewhat uncomfortable, avoiding Mycroft’s eyes the whole time, although the Omega thinks he might just be being paranoid. 

“There,” Greg says, stepping back right away, a slightly forced smile on his lips. “It figures you’d be a suit kinda guy,” he murmurs, seemingly to himself. “You clean up nicely.”

Mycroft tilts his head to the side, offering him a small smile, unsure of whether or not that’s a compliment. Greg continues smiling in that tense way and he pats Mycroft’s shoulder before sharply turning around, hurrying in the general direction of the stairs. “Come on then,” he says, “Molly is waiting for us.”

Mycroft follows in silence, wondering if he did something wrong and if so, how can he fix his mistake. He’d hate for things to be awkward between him and Greg, but no matter how hard he thinks about it, he can’t come up with a single reason for the Alpha to be acting so weird.

Maybe he’s just being paranoid and everything is perfectly fine.

Hopefully, that’ll be the case indeed.

* * *

 

The trip to the human town isn’t as taxing as he feared. They make most of the trip by feet, only taking a car when they’re at the town’s outskirts. Mycroft isn’t sure town is the right word, though, maybe small city would be more fitting. In any case, he has rarely seen these many houses close together, not to mention the amount of people milling about. On the few occasions he was transferred from one lab to another, the trips usually took place during the night, when there was very few people out and it was too dark for Mycroft to take a good look at the place. In any case, labs where rarely close to actual civilization, so all in all, this is a whole new experience for him.

He presses himself against Greg’s side almost unconsciously, nervous despite himself. The humans on the street pay no mind to the car they’re traveling in, probably completely oblivious to the fact that there are three werewolves in it, but he can’t help worrying someone, somehow, will figure out what they are and then--

Well. He’d rather not think of what would happen if someone discovered their presence.

The Alpha drapes an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. The car’s driver spares a quick look at them through the retrovisor, but continues making small talk with Molly, who is traveling on the front seat. The driver seems friendly enough, he supposes, but he can’t help being wary around humans.

They finally arrive to what looks like a hospital and Mycroft tenses. Greg rubs his arm comfortingly before sliding out of the car, gesturing for him to follow. Molly is paying the driver, still making chit chat and Mycroft takes a deep breath, telling himself that the last thing they need is for him to act like an skirtish animal. He knows human’s noses are practically useless when it comes to picking up scents, but they seem to have a sixth sense to pick up fear.

He follows Greg out of the car, smiling at him thankfully when the Alpha locks their arms together.

They enter the hospital through the front door and Molly heads to the front desk to ask for someone. The receptionist barely spares a glance in their direction, before gesturing for them to go down the hall.

The more they walk, they less people they find wandering around. They run into a couple of nurses and a doctor and Mycroft has to suppress a whimper as cold dread fills his veins. The place might not look like the labs he grew up in and the doctor and nurses might smile in an absent minded manner at him and his companions, but he can’t help feeling there’s something not quite right.

They finally stop outside an electronically locked door and Molly presses a button, informing of their presence when someone on the other side answers. A few seconds later the door opens automatically with a soft buzz, revealing a staircase leading to a sort of basement.

Molly goes in first, offering him a smile over her shoulder and Greg gestures for him to follow her. The staircase is nowhere wide enough to let them walk down all together, but Mycroft can’t help wishing the Alpha would continue walking next to him.

He freezes at the end of the staircase, his every nerve screaming for him to run, but all he can do is stand where he is, panicking silently. The lab stinks of cleaning products, every surface meticulously cleaned, just as every other lab Mycroft has ever been in early in the morning. There are huge lamps all across the ceiling, making up for the lack of natural illumination and in the far wall he can see an examination table, surrounding by a myriad of equipment he can’t begin to phantom what it is for.

He’s not aware he’s shaking, not until Greg pulls him into his arms, murmuring reassuring words against his ear, promising him everything will be fine. He presses his nose against his companion’s neck, making soft whimpering noises, hating his irrational reaction: he knows he’s safe, he knows everything will be fine, he knows his companions wouldn’t have brought him back to a lab to be experimented on, but-

Well. The thing is that he doesn’t really know, does he?

There’s a human woman standing in front of them, talking in quiet tones with Molly but her eyes remain fixed on him. She nods along to whatever the redhead is saying, a mighty frown on her face, but her eyes are soft and worried and Mycroft forces himself to pull himself together. He’s terrified, there’s no denying that, but if he learned anything in all these years dealing with humans, is that, more often than not, it’s best not to show how scared you are.

“Mycroft, this is Irene,” Molly introduces them, once he has calmed down enough, careful to stay between him and the human, tone calm and reassuring, a small smile on her lips. “She’s… well, she has a bunch of fancy degrees, but for all intents and purposes, she’s a doctor.”

Mycroft nods, watching the woman even more warily now. She smiles pleasantly at him, offering her hand to shake which he does, even if a bit reluctantly.

“Well then,” she says after a brief tense silence. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

Mycroft nods, even if he’s uncertain of what they’re doing here, but figuring he’ll have to trust the human.

He just hopes he won’t come to regret it.

* * *

 

_ An ultrasound _ , Irene calls the curious looking machine, something Mycroft had never seen before. She explains it’ll let her see his internal organs, which makes Mycroft frown a little: back at the labs, if the doctors wanted to check something inside him, they’d simply cut him open. Saying as much prompts an angry look from Irene, although he can tell her anger isn’t directed at him.

“Absolutely hateful,” Irene murmurs to herself, examining the longer scar over his abdomen. “It’s not even a clean job! Messy stitches, no doubt, they probably even got infected…” she continues, poking at the raised edges. “Monsters, the whole of them.”

Mycroft frowns, puzzled by the woman’s words. Based on what he gathered from his life in the lab, most humans didn’t care for werewolves at all and most certainly didn’t regard them as worthy of any concern. “You’re upset,” he comments, more than a little baffled.

Irene huffs. “That’s one way to call it,” she murmurs darkly to herself, pushing the machine closer to the examination table. “Undo your trousers, please,” she says and he hurries to do as told. “Sorry, it’s cold,” she continues, before spreading some cold jelly-like substance over his abdomen. 

For a while, she doesn’t talk, simply observing the machine’s monitor, making small annotations now and then. Mycroft lies still, staring at the ceiling, the echo of Molly’s and Greg’s conversation reaching him, but their voices too far away for him to make sense of the words. “Fascinating,” Irene whispers, almost awedly and Mycroft raises an eyebrow. “I haven’t met a lot of hybrids, of course, but you’re truly one of a kind. Even among werewolves, your internal anatomy is… something else.”

That doesn’t sound good, does it? “Is that a bad thing?”

Irene pursues her lips, turning to look at him directly. “I’m not sure. There are things I can’t… I’d need to run some tests, maybe take some samples… as far as I can tell there’s nothing wrong with you and that’s the most important thing, but if I could…” She bites her lip, hesitating. “Given your particular history, I wouldn’t want to press but I think it would be really interesting if I could conduct some research. Nothing too invasive, I swear, certainly nothing even close to what you’ve been subjected to, but I understand if you don't want to. Even coming here for a check up must have been terribly hard on you and I wouldn’t want…” she trails off awkwardly, her curiosity evident in her tone and the glint in her eyes, but she does seem  _ worried  _ about him,  _ concerned  _ about his opinion on the matter and isn’t that the weirdest thing ever?

He realizes he honestly believes that if he said no, Irene would never ask again. She might be curious and the researcher in her might be itching to get answers to the no doubt million questions now popping inside her head, but she’s not like all the humans Mycroft had known before. 

She would actually respect his wishes.

And that, he thinks, is what makes his answer so simple.

“Alright,” he murmurs, surprising even himself. The doctor looks beyond thrilled, but she hurries to assure him he doesn’t need to say yes, that it’s his choice and she really won’t mind if he’s not comfortable with it.

All it does is cement his belief that he’s making the right choice.

At least he hopes so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> The scene with Irene was supposed to be longer, but it felt too forced, so I decided to leave a couple of conversation for a later time. I’m also worried everyone might be a little out of character? I think some changes make sense, given the situation, but I really don’t know.  
> Anyway, let me know what you thought? Hopefully next chapter won’t take as long, but I can’t promise anything ;)  
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s this? A new chapter, really?  
> I’m so terribly sorry for the late update. I was struggling quite a lot with this chapter since I figured it’d be a transition chapter and then I figured it might be easier if I skipped the transitional bits and then I realized it did work better with the transitional bits (and I needed to build up the romance a bit more) and well… here we are, finally!  
> I hope you’ll enjoy it! And to make up for the long wait, it’s also an extra long chapter!  
> Enjoy!

Life can change in a blink of an eye. Sometimes it does for the better and sometimes for the worst, but if there’s a fact in life one must always be aware of, is that nothing remains static and change can happen at anytime.

Mycroft spent most of his life in a dreadful situation, with little hope of any change for the better. And now he’s living a life that seems more like a dream he never dared to have.

Later, he’ll think he should have remembered how quickly things can change and how easily they seem to do it for the worst.

But when they do… well, it takes him completely by surprise.

* * *

 

One month into his new life, Mycroft has settled into a comfortable routine. He likes feeling useful, so he usually can be found at the town’s hall, offering to help whoever finds themselves with too many things in their hands. He has always had a keen mind and now it’s been put to a test, constantly learning new stuff and coming up with solutions whenever a problem arises. He has learned he’s good at organizing supplies and administering the town’s finances and while he’s not entirely comfortable being left to deal with the whole responsibility himself, he does it more and more as time goes by.

The renovation at his brother’s (well, his mate’s, really) house is finished, so he knows he should be making plans to move in with them as soon as possible. However, living at the town’s hall is comfortable since he often works late, particularly when sleep insists on eluding him.

There is of course another reason why he's reluctant to leave, but he avoids examining it too closely.

In any case, Greg doesn't seem to mind having him around although Mycroft supposes the couch can't be that comfortable. He constantly worries he's overstaying his welcome but he really _really_ doesn't want to leave.

Sherlock throws him a knowing look when he says as much, but he doesn't comment.

And so life goes on.

* * *

 

A week later, when Mycroft gets to the his (Greg’s?) bedroom, he finds some changes have taken place during his absence. Now there are two more or less narrow beds inside it, each on opposite sides of the room. He blinks confusedly, wondering what the development means and becomes aware someone is standing behind him.

“I hope I wasn't being presumptuous,” Greg says, his voice a soft rumble that signals he's dead on his feet. “But I’m afraid the couch wasn't cutting it anymore."

Mycroft blushes to the tip of his ears. “You could have told me,” he says, turning around so he's facing his interlocutor. “I could-- I know I should have moved to Sherlock’s sooner, I just--”

The Alpha is watching him with a look Mycroft isn't sure how to interpret. “I must admit,” Greg begins, biting his lip nervously. “I enjoy having you around. Living here on my own had gotten… lonely, despite the fact there's always people coming and going.” He shrugs, seemingly embarrassed. “Not saying anything was more in my benefit than yours, but my back is starting to protest, so I thought… but perhaps… I mean, I do realize it's… odd,” he finishes lamely with a small embarrassed smile.

Mycroft’s heart is threatening to escape his chest and he's fairly certain his whole face is burning. Greg likes having him around? “It’s fine,” he murmurs, not quite meeting his companion’s eye. “As long as you're certain you don't mind having me around.”

They stand in silence, a moment passing between them that makes Mycroft’s heart flutter inside his chest. “Well then,” Greg exclaims cheerfully once the silence extends for too long. “Now that that's settled… time for bed?” Mycroft nods and his companion’s gaze softens, a smile on his lips. “Mind if I take the one on the right?”

Mycroft shakes his head and goes to the other bed, lying down immediately. In time, he'll wonder what this means and worry about all the implications it has, but for tonight he’s just too tired to care.

Five minutes after his head has hit the pillow, he has fallen asleep, feeling content and safe, completely oblivious to his roommate’s stare.

All for the best, since he wouldn't know how to interpret it.

* * *

 

Molly and Martha keep giving him knowing looks for the following days, but he quickly learns to ignore them. Sherlock seems slightly concerned, but he doesn't bring the subject up and no one else in town seems to know about the exact nature of their living arrangements, which is fine by Mycroft. His silly crush of course has just continued growing, but he ignores it with practiced ease now and, all in all, he’s quite comfortable with his life.

There's no real change in his usual routine after that night: he still has breakfast and often dinner with Greg in their quarters and then he roams the town's hall in search for something to do. What little spare time he has he spends it either with his brother and his family or with Molly or (more and more often) with Greg. It's comfortable and he's happy and that’s what matters, isn't it?

And if he sometimes daydreams of this easy domesticity he shares with Greg turning into something else…

Well, that's nobody's problem, is it?

* * *

 

Twice a month he ventures into the human “town” to visit Irene. He wouldn’t say he enjoys these visits, not really, but he finds the woman’s work interesting and he’s constantly in awe by how smart she is and how much she cares, although she keeps that well hidden, most of the time. She sometimes shares her findings with him (which he supposes it’s fair enough) but there are many subjects that Mycroft prefers not to discuss and Irene understands that. He now has a better understanding of his hybrid nature, though and while he’s unsure of whether or not that’s a good thing, he figures it might prove useful in the future.

For example, Irene has explained that not only he has a fully functional reproductive system, he’s surprisingly fertile. That’s part of the reason of why his heats are so intense although they last so little and leave him so weak afterwards: the hormone imbalance and the calories that manages to burn, is something unprecedented and Irene thinks the real wonder is it doesn’t leave him completely incapacitated.

It makes the whole sharing a Heat in the future with someone a rather more… complicated subject, but it’s not something Mycroft has thought about much. There’s still just one person in the pack he’d be interested in doing that with and he knows better than to indulge in that particular daydream.

At first, when he went to the human town, Molly and Greg accompanied him. Nowadays he’s more or less confident he could handle going on his own, but more often than not one of the other werewolves join him in his little trip. Molly usually takes him for lunch afterwards, to a nice small restaurant close to the hospital that Mycroft likes very much. But as much as he likes Molly and enjoys their conversations (although he does not appreciate her teasing), he likes it much better when Greg is the one who comes along, since they usually go for a walk around town, Greg introducing him to some of the human’s form of entertainment. He liked going to the museum and he liked the park. He's not so sure about the aquarium, something about the animals being kept in captivity rubbed him the wrong way, although Greg assured him they weren't mistreated.

Today Mycroft is only half listening to Irene’s words, instead wondering where Greg’ll take him today. The woman seems excited about some discovery she has made, but the werewolf couldn’t honestly care less. From the corner of his eye he can see Greg roaming around the room, examining some of the equipment Irene has, but he doesn’t seem terribly interested in it. Mycroft has told him more than once that he doesn’t have to come along, but the Alpha just grins everytime, telling him he’s happy to come along and since Mycroft doesn’t actually want him to stay behind…

Their relationship is… odd, Mycroft realizes and he certainly doesn’t know how to categorize it. He’d say they’re friends, or at least he’d like to think so, but he also gets the feeling that’s not all. He knows he’s more than a little enamored with the older werewolf, but he doesn't know how to interpret Greg’s behavior. He did not have to get that second bed in his room, that’s for certain and he certainly doesn’t need to spend what little free time he has with Mycroft but he does it anyway.

 _Concern_ can only go so far, Mycroft thinks, although he’s at lost of what it is then. He does not dare to even _think_ the pack’s leader is even remotely interested in him: he could literally pick any member of the pack and no one would refuse him, of that Mycroft is sure and yet--

His stomach feels all funny when he thinks about it too much. And he knows he shouldn’t, he keeps telling himself it’s not wise to be considering such things, that such silly daydreams will only leave him brokenhearted, but--

Well. He can’t help himself, honestly.

“You’re not even listening to me,” Irene accuses with a light pout, making Mycroft’s attention snap back to her immediately.

“I am,” he assures her, although the mighty blush on his cheeks might tell a different story. “I just…” he gestures helplessly, uncertain of what he can possibly say and Irene laughs good naturedly, patting his shoulder affectionately.

“Hey, I understand,” she says, sending an appreciative glance in Greg’s direction, which the Alpha completely misses since he’s currently not facing them. “I don’t even like men and yet I can totally tell he’s a fine specimen.”

Mycroft blushes even more furiously and the woman laughs merrily, making Greg look in their direction. Mycroft avoids the other man’s eyes and Irene waves a hand dismissively. For a beat, the werewolf continues staring at them before shrugging non committedly and turning his attention to the equipment he’s revising.

“What’s the deal between you two, anyway?” Irene asks, gesturing for Mycroft to lie down once more so she can continue with whatever she’s doing. “Molly says you’re living together.”

“It’s not like that,” Mycroft says very sternly, thinking he’ll need to have a conversation with Molly about _gossiping_ with the human doctor. “And if you want to talk about hopeless crushes, should we talk about you and Molly?”

Irene rolls her eyes dramatically. “Touché,” she murmurs, a slight smile on her lips. “For what it’s worth though, I doubt it’s anywhere near as hopeless as you think,” she adds after a brief pause, tone soft and low so they won’t be overheard.

Mycroft chances a look in Greg’s direction, only to find the Alpha is watching him intently. He blushes some more, before turning his attention to the ceiling. “I don’t think yours is, either.”

Irene just smiles.

* * *

 

One night, exactly four months into Mycroft’s new life, he gets woken up in the middle of the night by someone shaking his shoulder rather insistently. He blinks awake, drowsy and finds Greg leaning over him, his face entirely too close.

The Alpha seems to notice this and hurries to pull away. In the dark of the room, it’s hard to tell for sure, but Mycroft could swear he's blushing.

“Sorry about that,” Greg murmurs, not quite meeting his eyes. “I just thought you’d like to know Harry has gone into labor. I’m heading out--"

“I’m coming with you,” Mycroft states confidently, standing up and searching for his coat. The days are still mild enough, but the nights keep getting progressively colder.

Greg has already put on his own coat and they leave the town's hall quickly, heading for Harry’s house.

“It's traditional for the pack’s leader to be present during the birthing,” Greg explains, as they make their way through the empty street. “It's also traditional for all family members to be there and since your brother mated into the family… and of course there's also what you did for her…”

“I did nothing,” Mycroft argues, shaking his head.

Greg stares at him for a bit, a light frown on his face, but he doesn't comment, resuming their walk in silence.

The house looms in the distance and they soon find themselves standing just outside. Sherlock opens the door when they knock and he ushers them in quickly.

The air is filled with a mix of tension and excitement. Clara paces outside the room, writhing her hands, expression troubled. John is sitting on a sofa, looking tired but worried too and Sherlock goes to sit with him, curling around his partner like an oversized cat. From inside the bedroom comes Molly's voice, talking in hushed but urgent tones and Harry's replies, which sound somewhere between annoyed and tired.

Mycroft takes a seat on another sofa, uncertain if he ought to be doing something. Greg stands next to him,arms folded over his chest, eyes fixed on the closed door. “How long has it been?” the Alpha asks after a beat.

“Seven hours, give or take,” Clara replies quickly. “Molly says it won't be long now, which is why we called for you, Alpha.” She bows her head a little and Mycroft has never seen anyone address Greg with such formality, but considering what he told him about the traditional nature of tonight’s visit…

Greg nods absentmindedly, turning back to his silent observation of the door. For a while (a long while actually) they sit in silence, no other sound but their combined breathing and then a cry pierces through the silence, making everyone jump onto his feet.

The door opens, a tired looking and blood covered Molly smiling at them. “That was a little more difficult than we thought,” she says cheerfully, addressing Clara mainly. “But you have a healthy girl.”

Clara makes a delighted sound, squeezing Molly's hands, not bothered by the blood covering them, peering into the room. “Thank you,” she murmurs eagerly and Molly smiles brightly before both women turn in the pack’s leader direction. “Alpha, may our pup get your blessing now?”

Greg smiles, a soft affectionate thing that makes Mycroft’s heart skip a beat and nods, following Clara into the room, closing the door after them. Mycroft tilts his head curiously, wondering what exactly this tradition entails. “Well, I’ll better go wash of,” Molly says, before disappearing down the hall.

John and Sherlock have curled even closer together, talking to each other in hushed tones. Mycroft feels a bit like an intruder, but he does want to be here. Regardless of what everyone seems to think, he knows that he’s the one in Harry’s debt and not the other way around. If they hadn’t met--

Well. It doesn’t even bear thinking about it, does it?

“There’ll be a birthing party tomorrow,” John says suddenly, startling Mycroft out of his thoughts. “Everyone in town will be expected to attend, so it’ll be at the town’s hall but tonight… tonight it’s more of a family thing.”

Mycroft nods, glancing at the closed door. “The pack’s leader is supposed to bless the newborn pup and then we’ll probably eat something before heading back to bed,” John continues. “You and Greg are welcome to stay, of course, since it’s likely it’ll be quite late by then.”

Again, Mycroft nods, uncertain of what to make of John’s tone when he said _you and Greg._ It seems to him he’s implying something, but he’d much rather not think about it. Luckily, just then the door opens once more, Clara peeking out, a bright grin on her face. “You can come in now and meet your niece,” she informs them and John is on his feet a second later, making Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically. John hurries into the room, cheerfully talking to Clara and Sherlock and Mycroft follow at a much more sedated pace.

The room is small, but quite cosy, one large bed in the middle of it and a small cradle against the far wall. Harry is lying on the bed, looking like she’s about to fall asleep any minute now, holding a small bundle to her chest. She smiles at them absentmindedly and John hurries to her side, leaning forward to get a better look at the newborn pup.

Mycroft can sense his brother’s excitement, although he’s not surprised to find Sherlock is doing his very best to appear completely unfazed. But when John turns to him, a bright smile on his lips and gestures for Sherlock to come closer, the younger man hurries to do so, smiling too.

From the corner of his eye, Mycroft notices Greg coming to stand next to him, the same soft smile still on his lips and Mycroft smiles back, which earns him an affectionate squeeze of his shoulder. He stays where he is, watching the scene developing in front of him, a part of him wistfully wondering if he’ll ever get to experience such a thing.

He places a hand over his abdomen absentmindedly, thinking that yes, he’d very much like to have a pup of his own one day. His eyes stray to his companion’s form then and he finds himself imagining what that would be like.

It’s a silly useless daydream, he knows.

And yet--

* * *

 

Harry has fallen asleep already, but as John said, the rest of the group has gathered to have a light meal and share a few drinks. Mycroft had spent most of the time staring at the small bundle in Clara’s arms, a little worried by how little fuss the baby made. He doesn’t know a great deal about babies, of course, but he had practically raised Sherlock himself and from what he remembers…

“Do you wish to hold her?” Clara asks suddenly, startling him. The woman smiles as Mycroft feels his cheeks heating up, but he nods all the same.

“If you don’t mind, of course,” he says softly and Clara rolls her eyes good naturedly, before passing the babe to him. She’s tiny, impossibly so, but bigger than Mycroft remembers Sherlock being. She has Harry’s golden hair and Clara’s dark eyes. Overall, she probably takes after Clara more, but in time that might change a bit.

He can feel someone’s eyes fixed on him and he’s not entirely surprised when he looks up and finds Greg’s eyes on him. He smiles a little at the Alpha, hesitant, his stomach flipping funnily and the other man smiles back quickly, before looking away.

Mycroft bites his lip, still unsure of what it could mean, but something that feels an awful lot like hope is blossoming inside him.

That could be problematic.

* * *

 

“You’re quite a natural,” Greg comments, almost offhandedly, appearing out of thin air and making Mycroft nearly jump out of his own skin. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The Omega shrugs, going back to his contemplation of the rising sun. He and Greg had indeed stayed the night and when Rose had gotten a little fussy in the wee hours of the morning, he had offered to look after her. Clara and Harry have many sleepless nights ahead of them and he’s happy to help, if only for tonight.

“I practically raised Sherlock on my own,” Mycroft murmurs, staring at the now sleeping pup in his arms. “The humans left him in my cage when he was a couple of days old and I… well, I had to figure it all out as it went but I dare to say I did alright.” He shrugs once again. “He’s not… we’re not biologically related, you know?”

“I imagined as much,” Greg says, with a shrug of his own. “But family is not only made by blood.”

True enough, Mycroft supposes. He thinks of the way Clara and Harry stare at their newborn and he remembers the way his mother used to look at him. Of course he doesn’t remember how it was like when he was a babe himself, but he imagines her eyes never held that much warmth and affection. Did she care for him, even just a tiny bit?

He supposes he’ll never know. “I’m glad Sherlock found a family of his own,” Mycroft murmurs softly. “All I ever wanted was for him to be safe, but now that he’s safe and _happy…_ it’s much more than I dared to imagine.”

“You both are safe now,” Greg assures him, stepping closer, hesitating briefly before placing a hand over Mycroft’s shoulder. “And you both have a family and are part of the pack.”

Mycroft nods, gulping audibly. Some days he still finds it hard to believe how much his life has changed in so little time. Some days he still thinks he’s going to wake up and find it was all a dream.

But more and more he’s beginning to think his luck has indeed taken a turn for the best.

* * *

 

And then of course comes the day when his new life comes to an abrupt end.

He really _really_ should have known better than to let his guard down.

* * *

 

“Alright, we’re done for today!” Irene exclaims cheerfully and Mycroft can’t help thinking it took her long enough. He generally doesn’t mind his visits to the human doctor, not anymore anyway, but today he’s been wanting to leave practically since they arrived. “If you have time, I’ll go fetch the blood analisis from earlier and I can tell you if there’s anything we should be worried about.”

Irene makes those tests in every visit, since she identified his blood had a stangering mix of odd chemicals and while she was more or less confident he’d be fine once they started disappearing, she wanted to keep track of the cleansing process.

Mycroft shares a look with Greg and the Alpha shrugs non committedly, making him roll his eyes before turning to Irene and giving her a firm nod. The human doctor smiles brightly and she soon disappears upstairs, leaving them inside her bunker-like laboratory.

“I hope it doesn’t take long,” Greg says, coming to stand closer to him. “I’m really looking forward to watching that movie I told you about.”

Mycroft nods eagerly, since he’s been looking forward to their little excursion too. Greg had mentioned what movie theaters are a while ago and Mycroft’s been wanting to visit one ever since, not quite certain what to expect. “We’ll be getting that… popcorn you spoke of?”

“Oh yes,” Greg replies, smiling brightly. “You wouldn’t be getting the whole movie experience otherwise.”

Before Mycroft can think of something to reply though, the lab’s door opens abruptly and Irene rushes in, closing the door after her and resting her whole weigh against. “Quick! Through the emergency exit!”

“What--?” Mycroft begins, but Greg starts pulling him by the arm in the direction of a door he hadn’t noticed before. It’s in the far side of the lab, mostly hidden by a bookcase and Greg opens it, pushing him to go through it first.

The door doesn’t lead outside, but to a small badly lighted hall. He’s confused, but he hurries down it, growing slightly terrified when he hears the commotion going on inside the lab and Irene’s scream. He turns around, torn between continuing his escape and going back to check on the doctor, but Greg blocks his way and continues pushing him forward, so the Omega has no other choice but to comply.

Soon enough he can hear people coming after them and his heartbeat picks up speed, adrenaline making him start running faster. He wishes he could shift, but his human clothing would make the process uncomfortable and so he has no choice but to pray he’ll manage to run fast enough in this form.

After what feels like a lifetime but can’t be more than ten minutes, he finds another door and after pushing it open they find themselves outside the hospital. Greg grabs him by the hand then and they start running down the street in the vague direction of the forest. They can’t lead their pursuers back to the pack, but the forest is still their best shot at escaping.

Terror threatens to size him up and he forces himself to focus only on running. It doesn’t matter where he goes, he just knows he needs to continue running. He wishes they had time to shed their clothes and shift, but time is the essence and he can hear their pursuers closing up on them.

He can’t help the terrified whimper that escapes him at the thought of being caught and brought back to his old lab and the fear gives him a new rush of energy, making him run faster. Unfortunately, Greg seems less used to running in this form and before Mycroft can come up with a plan, he hears the first shot.

They won’t kill them, that much he’s certain of, but the guns are probably loaded with some sort of tranquilizer or, perhaps even worse, silver darts. Silver isn’t as poisonous for werewolves as the lore would have you think, but in certain doses it can incapacitate them.

Greg falls down and since they’re still holding hands, he brings Mycroft down with him. The Omega stares at his companion worriedly, noticing the dart on his neck. Oh god, this is bad, so bad…

“Run,” Greg instructs, squeezing his hand once before ushering him away. “Come on Mycroft, run.”

And while he knows he should, while he knows he might be of more use to Greg if he alerts the pack of what has happened…

He can’t leave him alone. He just can’t.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, kneeling next to Greg, distinctly aware he’s crying. “I won’t leave you alone.”

“Mycroft--” Greg protests, but his eyelids are already dropping close, the tranquilizer making its effect. “Run,” he insists once more, before he finally succumbs to the effect of the drug and Mycroft makes a small whimpering sound, scared, yes, but determined.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he repeats solemnly, holding Greg close. “Whatever comes next… we’ll face it together.”

And so he waits.

* * *

 

He doesn’t have to wait long, which he supposes it’s both a blessing and a curse. He follows their humans captors without resisting, watching as the humans drag Greg along. His heart constricts painfully inside his chest as the rough treatment the Alpha is receiving, but he knows there’s nothing he can do.

“Well, would you look at that,” a very familiar voice says, once he’s been pushed into a van by his captors. Mycroft’s blood runs cold, eyes growing wide with fear. “When I heard about the half breed hiding in this dreadful town, I was hoping it was you.”

Mycroft holds the man’s stare evenly, something he never dared to do before. And while there’s no denying he’s scared, he refuses to cower as usual, glaring at Magnussen instead. “Ah, found your courage, have you?” Magnussen says, smirking cruelty, his eyes sliding to Greg, who’s lying asleep on the floor. “We’ll see how long it last,” the doctor says, gesturing for his men to close the door and start the van.

Mycroft takes a deep breath, telling himself he’ll be fine. Somehow, they’ll find a way to get away.

He finds it a difficult to believe.

But he must.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I briefly considered leaving the last part for the next chapter, but I do think it works better here. It breaks a little the overall happy build up we had, but having everything else happening in the next chapter felt… weird :P I hope it doesn’t feel super confusing, though  
> Hopefully, next chapter won’t take very long ;) I do intend to finish this soonish, so I expect I’ll be able to finish it before I go on holidays ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought, pretty please?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It’s a somewhat darkish chapter, but nothing terribly explicit, since most is left implied. Much like chapter 1, except this time the boys have each other although whether or not that’s a good thing remains to be seen, of course :P  
> Anyway… on with the chapter!

And here he is once more. Right back to where he started.

Mycroft sighs, resting his back against the wall, trying to keep himself from crying. He feels angry and despondent, scared and frustrated. It’s an odd combination of emotions, but overall, he just feels tired. He rubs his arm absentmindedly, well aware that whatever he’s been injected with will start making its effect soon enough, but he can’t bring himself to care overly much.

Nothing matters much anymore, does it?

He stares at the food tray he’s been given and he ponders the merits of actually eating. His stomach is protesting at the lack of food, having gotten used to a more or less steady meal schedule and he thinks mournfully of the meal Martha must have prepared back home.

By now the pack must know something is amiss. If no one else, Molly must have figured out they ought to have come back from their little excursion hours ago. Still, it might take some time before someone figures out where to find them and even if they do… is hoping for a rescue too optimistic?

Perhaps not. After all, Greg is the pack’s leader and surely the pack’s members will be interested in rescuing him. But Mycroft worries, because doing that means risking their own lives and he doesn’t want anyone to get hurt.

He wonders briefly how this came to pass, before deciding it really matters not. It won’t do to torment himself with thoughts of what could have gone wrong and what he could have done to avoid it. It’s evident someone noticed his continued visits to Irene, saw the doctor’s research and put two and two together. There’s a slight chance the doctor herself is involved, but he sincerely doubts it.

She had seemed honest enough to him.

It’s unfortunate, he thinks, that they seem to be in a new lab, although it’s pretty similar to the old one. Chances are however, that they’re in a whole different location which will make the whole rescuing a little more complicated. And there’s of course the fact he’s not familiar with the distribution of this new lab, so coming with a escape plan of his own will be more difficult too.

He knows he must though. Not only for his own sake, but for Greg’s. While he knows it’s not exactly his fault they ended up in this dreadful situation, he can’t help feeling responsible. 

He starts pacing his small cage, his mind on overdrive, anxiety twisting his stomach.

It’s going to be a very long night.

* * *

 

Despite his best attempts to come up with a plan, he finally succumbs to sleep at some point, since he jerks awake at the sound of the lab’s door opening. He sits up, watching nervously as a group of guards drag a half-unconscious Greg into the cage next to his.

The Alpha makes a soft protesting noise after been threw into the small cage, but the men pay him no mind, busy as they are talking among each other. Most of their words don’t really register with Mycroft, but enough of them do for him to figure out that it’s really in their best interest to escape as soon as possible. Being the pack’s leader, Greg isn’t your average werewolf and it’s quite evident the scientists are eager to start cutting him open and see what they can find.

Once the humans leave, Mycroft slides closer to the cage’s edge. He’s not close enough to touch Greg, which makes him ache in an undefinable way. “Greg?” he murmurs softly, watching the way the Alpha’s eyes keep rolling back, although he’s doing an effort to focus on him. “Are you badly hurt?” he asks gently, stomach contracting painfully at the thought of the other man being hurt.

“‘m fine,” Greg murmurs sluggishly. “Just peachy.”

Mycroft can’t help the half hysterical giggle that escapes him. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, reaching for the other man, although as he suspected, they’re too far apart.

“Don’t,” Greg argues, attempting to sit up and failing miserably. He huffs, annoyed, before crawling closer to the cage’s edge, extending his own arm so his fingers can brush Mycroft’s. “Not your fault.”

Mycroft shakes his head, frustrated with his own urge to start crying  _ again.  _ “I don’t… I…”

“Mycroft,” Greg interrupts sternly, fighting his own tiredness and the sedative he must have been given. “Stop it,” he orders and the Omega makes a soft whimpering sound, which makes the other werewolf sigh. “We’ll get out of here, I promise.”

Mycroft nods, although he has his doubts. 

The odds aren’t in their favour.

* * *

 

“Not even a whole year and you’ve forgotten thirthy-five years of conditioning,” Magnussen says, hands linked behind his back. The words suggest annoyance, but he’s smirking in that cruel way of his and it takes every bit of Mycroft’s self control not to cower. “I’m disappointed, Mycroft. I had great hopes for you, despite your… condition.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes dramatically, making a point of it and the doctor chuckles, stepping closer, gesturing for the other doctor to move along. Mycroft is acutely aware of the binds keeping his arms and legs in place and he growls, wishing he could move away.

“On the bright side,” the doctor continues, prodding at his abdomen hard enough to hurt. “You seem to be in mint condition, which means we can proceed with our previous plans for you.” Mycroft can’t help a full body shiver at the words, recalling entirely too well the human’s plans for him, which prompted the idea of escaping the first time around. “Huh,” the doctor continues, tilting his head to the side, examining his mating gland. “No mating bite, I see. All for the best, since that might just complicate the process although it does bring up the question about your…  _ touching  _ loyalty to your Alpha companion.” He smirks cruelly, eyes locked with the werewolf’s. “Care to explain?”

Spitting on the doctor’s face might not be Mycroft’s brightest idea ever, but the truth is he can’t bring himself to regret it. He braces himself for the hit that he knows it’s coming and he flinches just the slightest bit. “You know, you had me almost fooled for a little while,” the doctor says, turning on his heel and heading for the door. “I almost thought you were truly more human than an animal. Guess I was wrong.”

Mycroft huffs. “Of course I’m not human,” he murmurs darkly. “I’m not a heartless monster, am I?”

He’s pushing it and he knows it, but he does not want to go back to his former life, keeping his head down for the sake of survival. Not now, when he knows there’s much more to life than just staying alive. 

“Careful now,” Magnussen says, looking over his shoulder. “You might be safe for now, but lets not forget about your Alpha friend, huh?”

Mycroft bites his lip to stop himself from answering. 

They definitely need to get out of here.

* * *

 

It’s curious, Mycroft thinks absentmindedly, how reassuring a simple brush of fingers can be.

He and Greg sit in silence in their respective cages, arms extended so their fingers might touch. The contact does comfort him, reminding him he’s not alone anymore, but it also fills him with guilt. He idly wonders if maybe he should have done as Greg said and run away. Maybe that way he’d have been more useful to the Alpha.

Greg makes a soft pained noise and Mycroft turns in his direction right away. He’s not looking as bad as he could, all things considered and Mycroft is a bit puzzled by how long it’s taking the humans to start cutting the other werewolf open. He’s thankful for it, of course, but it’s puzzling.

Currently, it seems they’ve contented themselves with starving them both and while Greg does look a little bruised (well, very bruised), Mycroft knows it’s nothing compared with what awaits him.

His heart aches at the thought and desperation and guilt threaten to overwhelm him, but he forces himself to keep his expression blank.

“Stop that,”  Greg says and Mycroft supposes he’s not keeping his expression as blank as he thought. “As I’ve said a millionth times before, it’s not your fault.”

Mycroft smiles wryly at that. “We haven’t been here long enough for you to have said it a millionth times,” he murmurs petulantly, prompting a soft chuckle from his companion, which quickly turns into a grunt of pain.  _ Broken ribs, perhaps,  _ Mycroft thinks and files it away for later.

“Do you think they’ll find us?” Mycroft finds himself asking after a long silence, staring into the distance once more, refusing to meet his companion’s eyes.

“Yes,” Greg replies confidently, not a trace of doubt in his tone and Mycroft wonders if he truly believes so or if he’s saying it for Mycroft’s benefit. It doesn’t really matter, anyway. “I must say… there’s a part of me that wishes you had done as I said and left me behind, but… thank you for staying.”

Mycroft closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I couldn’t leave you. Although I realize now I might have been more useful if I had hidden and seen where you were being taken, so I could alert the pack.”

Greg huffs. “Stop coming up with ways to blame yourself for this,” the Alpha murmurs, his fingers intently caressing Mycroft’s. “We’ll get out of here. And as I said… I’m grateful you’re here, even if deadly worried about you.”

It’s Mycroft’s turn to huff. “No need for that, really. At least for the time being, I’ll be perfectly fine.” He can feel Greg’s confusion, but he doesn’t wish to elaborate. He does not know if Molly ever told the Alpha about the humans’ plans for him before he managed to escape but for some reason, the idea of Greg knowing makes his stomach turn unpleasantly.

But of course, the Alpha has to ask. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, hugging himself and so relinquishing the small point of contact between them. “Did… did Molly ever tell you what they were planning to do to me before you found me?” he hates how small and vulnerable he sounds, but there’s not much he can do. He’s not exactly worried, not for his own sake in any case, but-- “They… they’re planning on impregnating me.”

“What?!” Greg exclaims, sounding appropriately horrified and Mycroft sighs, pulling his legs close to his chest and hiding his face there. “Mycroft, that… I mean… oh god.”

Mycroft shrugs non committedly. “I’m not… I’m a little… embarrassed, truth to be told, but my biggest concern is what could happen to any child of mine. I don’t…”

“What-- why--?” Greg takes a deep breath, frustration evident in his tone, but he probably knows that won’t help the matter one bit. “I’m sorry, I just… nevermind. You don’t need to worry about anything, though. I’m getting you out of here before anyone touches you, even if that’s the last thing I do .”

Mycroft turns his head a little, so he can see the other man from the corner of his eye. “I’d rather not have you die trying to get me out of here,” he murmurs softly. “I… there’s still so many things you haven’t showed me.”

Greg’s smile is sad, but soft and Mycroft somehow manages to smile back, despite the way he can feel his heart breaking. “You’re right, of course,” the Alpha murmurs. “I still owe you that movie, don’t I?”

Mycroft nods, extending his arm once more, resting his fingers over Greg’s. Their eyes lock and it feels like a promise, although he’s not sure what exactly it entails.

It doesn’t matter, he supposes. For now, just knowing he’s not alone is more than enough.

* * *

 

There’s an itch beneath his skin he doesn’t seem capable of scratching. He scratches his arm absentmindedly, right on the spot where the needle went it, but it’s all useless. He has already hurt himself, a nasty gash now taking a good part of his arm but no matter how hard he scratches it just doesn’t seem to be enough.

Mycroft curses softly, wondering what he’s been injected with this time around. Nothing dangerous, he’s certain of that at the very least, but that does not mean it won’t make him uncomfortable. If the itch doesn’t get better, he fears it’ll drive him mad.

He starts pacing the cage in an effort do distract himself, throwing pained glances in the direction of Greg’s cage. The other werewolf was missing this morning when he woke up and he still hasn’t come back, which, in Mycroft’s experience, it’s never a good thing. If he’s hurt, he’ll…

What will he do?

There’s not much he can do, he knows, as much as it pains him to admit it. He’s always been powerless to stop his loved ones from being hurt which of course will be taken to a whole new level if--

He stops his thoughts from going in that direction, but he rubs his abdomen absentmindedly. Just a few months ago he had been thinking he’d really want to have a pup one day and now… now…

The lab’s door opens, startling him out of his dark thoughts. A security team comes in, dragging an unconscious Greg along. There’s blood on his left side and Mycroft can see the messy stitches that he has no doubt will become infected soon enough since nobody bothered to clean the skin afterwards. Mycroft growls, incapable of holding himself back, which earns him an amused cruel smirk from one of the guards. 

Greg gets dropped inside the cage rather ruthlessly, letting a pained grunt when his body hits the ground. Mycroft flinches, hurrying to his own cage’s edge, reaching for the other man although he knows it’s an useless endeavour. He wants to touch Greg, press his fingers to his pulse point, if only to reassure himself his companion is still alive. It’s a ridiculous urge, given the circumstances, but he’s afraid he’s not acting very rationally right now, probably hasn’t been for a while.

“I wouldn’t worry overly much about your  _ friend,” _ Magnussen says, making Mycroft’s head snap in the human’s direction, cursing how distracted he is; how did he miss the man’s entrance? “He’ll be fine for the next… couple of weeks, give or take.”

Mycroft growls and before he knows it he has thrown himself against the cage door, growling ferociously. The human doctor is smirking, a dark twinkle in his eye. “Now, now, Mycroft,” he says in a sing song tone. “Behave and he might last… I don’t know… around nine months? Long enough to see you deliver your pup?”

Another growl escapes him and he reaches for the human, although he knows it’s useless and it’ll only manage to amuse his captor. Magnussen just throws another cruel smirk in his direction, before turning on his heel, heading for the door, humming a cheerful little tune to himself. “Remember Mycroft. Your friend’s fate is on your hands right now.”

The cage’s door opens and the security team approaches him warily. He’s feeling quite feral, which is something completely unprecedented, but Magnussen’s words resonate inside his head. In truth,  _ buying  _ Greg time might be far from a kindness, but he finds he can not bear the idea of going through this on his own.

With a defeated sigh, he lets the humans lead him out of his cage and onto the operating table in the middle of the room. He tenses briefly when he is forced to lie down and his arms and legs get strapped down, but he forces himself to take deep breaths and relax.

The itch underneath his skin is getting worse by the minute and he suspects being tied up might soon prove to be a blessing. He closes his eyes, ignoring the humans’ cruel taunts and he lets out a relieved breath once the guards finally leave the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts and with nothing to do but wait.

And something tells him, it’s going to be a long wait.

* * *

 

“Mycroft?”

He blinks awake at the sound of his name and has a brief moment of panic when he notices his arms and legs are tied up. Pain shots through his very core a few seconds later and he wants to curl onto himself, although of course that’s impossible. The itch on his arm has now extended to his shoulder and neck and he wants-- he wants--

“Are you alright?” Greg’s voice comes once again and the Omega takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm down.

“I think so,” he murmurs, staring at the ceiling, trying to distract himself. “What about you?”

“Nevermind me,” the Alpha argues. “Why are you tied up like that?”

That’s a good question, isn’t it? “I don’t know,” he replies honestly and another shot of pain makes his last words be a barely understandable murmur. 

“Mycroft? What’s wrong?” from the position he’s in, Greg mustn’t be able to see him that well and Mycroft can only imagine how anxious that must make him, but the pain refuses to recede, robbing him of the ability to reply. “Mycroft?!”

“I’m fine,” he whispers breathlessly, still in pain but it’s more manageable once more. He feels like he’s simultaneously burning up and freezing over, his body warrying against itself due the confused signals. “I just… I don’t feel so well.”

He can feel Greg’s concerned frown. “Do you… anything I can do for you?” he sounds… pained, Mycroft thinks, hopelessness and desperation probably making a chunk on his usual calm facade.

“Doubtful,” he replies, twisting in his bounds a little, the itch quickly spreading across his body as another wave of pain hits him. “Although… talk to me?” he asks, hating how his voice breaks. He just… he’s not sure it’ll help or rather, he doesn’t think it’ll help at all but he finds some comfort in knowing he’s not alone.

The silence stretches for a couple of seconds and then Greg starts talking, one mile per minute. He’s probably saying whatever comes to mind first, no real coherency in his words, but the sound does comfort Mycroft and while his whole body is aching now…

Well. At least he’s not alone.

* * *

 

“Mycroft? Mycroft, darling? Are you alright?”

He has no memory of having fallen asleep and he suspects he actually passed out. His whole body feels heavy and his mind sluggish, so he can’t answer right away, although he does make a pained noise that at least lets the Alpha know he’s still alive. “Darling?” Greg repeats. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

_ Darling.  _ It feels like an odd thing to fixated on, considering the circumstances and the amount of pain he’s in now that he has recovered consciousness, but-- “A little, yes,” he agrees and then lets out a pained groan, thrashing and twisting, every insistic in his body urging him to curl onto himself. “Oh god, I feel like crap.”

“I’m sorry,” Greg murmurs. “Should I have let you sleep? I just… you got so quiet for a while and I thought…”

“It’s fine,” Mycroft argues, voice barely audible. By now it feels like his whole body is on fire and the itch beneath his skin is driving him mad. He’s never felt this uncomfortable in his life and the same time, he feels too tired to even try to do something, his energy quickly draining out. “I think… I think I’m going to pass out again,” he whispers, already slipping out of consciousness. He can hear Greg calling for him, but hard as he tries, he can no longer answer.

The darkness swallows him and that’s actually a relief.

Whatever’s wrong with him?

* * *

 

The next time he wakes up it’s a shock, since he’s being violently hauled. He wants to scream, twist and try to escape, but his body isn’t reacting to his brain’s orders. It feels like he’s been disconnected from his body, although he’s fully aware of it. He tries to speak and finds he can’t, which just makes him want to try to escape much more, but--

“Easy there, I got you,” comes Greg’s voice like a soothing balm, making him relax immediately, despite himself. What’s going on? He tries to open his eyes, but they refuse to, and while he can feel the Alpha close by, he knows he’s not the one carrying him.

“It figures,” comes Sherlock’s voice from the darkness and Mycroft’s heart skips a beat. “I grew up with him, you know? You’d think he’d recognize me first.”

“Sherlock,” John chides affectionately and his brother huffs. Mycroft somehow finds the strength to pat the man’s cheek, recognizing the shape of Sherlock’s cheekbone and he can feel his brother smiling.

“It’s fine,” Sherlock assures him. “We’re getting you out of here and straight to a doctor. An actual doctor, not one of this monsters that call themselves such.”

There’s so much he wants to ask and so much he doesn’t understand, but his body refuses to cooperate. He can feel some pain in the back of his mind, but the tiredness seems to block out the worst of it.

Probably for the best, he thinks.

And with that thought in mind, he lets darkness swallow him once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> As I said, the boys’ captivity wasn’t going to last long, but of course that does not mean they’re completely out of the woods just yet. A bit of good, old fashioned angst in the form of misunderstandings is coming our way (some smut too, if I can persuade myself to write it, of course :P)  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I’m sorry for the somewhat late update, but I was a bit stuck with the middle of this.  
> Now, a brief warning: I was reluctant to tag this as dubious consent and I tried not to go there, but given the circumstances… I’m not 100% sure. So, better safe than sorry.  
> Anyway… Enjoy?

It’s hard to tell how much time has passed when Mycroft wakes up again, but he doesn’t particularly care. His body aches unpleasantly and his mind feels sluggish, concentrating on staying awake taking his whole attention. He still feels like he’s burning up and the pain is still there, in the back of his mind, a constant ache he can’t place.

He curls onto himself as the pain begins escalating, a whimper slipping past his lips. The room he’s in is dark and it smells familiar, so he has a sense of being safe, but he’s not entirely convinced it’s not an hallucination, the memories of these last few days at the human lab haunting him still. He’s back to step one, he realizes, when he wasn’t sure if he could trust his senses, when he wasn’t sure it wasn’t all just a dream.

He hugs his knees to his chest and that makes the pain abate a little, but not much. He’s sweating profusely and while he’s naked, he still feels like he’s being constricted by clothes. The itch beneath his skin is slowly coming back, making him want to scratch mercilessly, although he knows he’ll only succeed in hurting himself.

The door opens and he retreats to the edge of the bed, pressing his back against the wall, growling and hissing in distress. He hurts all over and he can’t quite make out the figure at the door, incapable of getting his eyes to focus.

“Hush, it’s just me,” a woman’s voice says, sliding closer to the bed, closing the door after her. The smell of oranges fills his nostrils and he relaxes instantly, attempting and failing to smile at Molly.

“What--?” he begins, but another wave of pain interrupts him and he focus on breathing, since it feels the pain is robbing him of air.

“Hush,” Molly whispers once more, running her fingers through his hair in a soothing manner. “It’s okay,” she says softly and then scrunches her nose in displeasure. “Well, no, that’s probably a lie.”

Mycroft’s lips curve upwards briefly and the woman offers him a sad smile. “Am I dying?” he asks, because it certainly feels that way. He has always hoped for a painless death, maybe even passing on his sleep, although he had known that was unlikely to happen.

“Goddess, no,” Molly says, looking horrified. “No, no, sorry I… No, you’ll be fine. You’re just… your Heat has been induced. And your regular Heats are difficult enough due your particular biology, so the drug they gave you… it’s just starting, but it’s bound to get worse.”

Worse?  _ It can actually get worse? _ “Any chance you can stop it?”

Molly sighs, shaking her head dejectedly. “Afraid not. I’m not even sure what they gave you in the first place, although Irene offered some ideas. Based on them, I’m afraid we just have a couple of options,” she pauses, biting her lip gently and Mycroft gestures for her to continue. “I could sedate you. It’s… dangerous, to be honest, based on what Irene told me of the drugs you could have been given and we’d be risking heart failure at the very worst.”

Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a good idea. “And option number two?” he questions softly, focusing on breathing.

Molly bites her lip even more viciously now. “We can let the Heat run its natural course. It’d be… all kinds of unpleasant and uncomfortable, but it’s much safer than the first option.”

Mycroft groans, thinking that doesn’t sound much better. Still… “It’d be over in a couple of days, right?”

Molly hesitates, before shaking her head once. “It’s hard to tell for sure but… no, we think it’ll last a week or so.” Mycroft lets out a pitiful whimper and the woman’s face crumbles in concern. “I’m so sorry,” she says softly. “But what the humans gave you… well, their intentions were pretty clear and they weren’t taking any chances.”

So, it all comes down to whether he wants to endure the worst week of his life or risk dying. It’s not much of a choice, really and there’s only one true option. “Alright,” he murmurs defeatedly, “I’ll endure.”

Molly is watching him with a conflicted expression on her face, chewing on her lip guiltily. “There’s… there’s another option, although I’m unsure whether or not it’ll help much with the pain,” she says reluctantly and Mycroft looks at her hopefully. The female sighs, pushing her hair away from her face. “Regular Heats are less…  _ uncomfortable  _ when there’s an Alpha to help you through it. I don’t think it’ll completely make the pain go away since, you know, regular Heats aren’t painful to begin with, but it might make it more… bearable.”

Mycroft takes a minute to process the information, feeling his heartbeat pick up speed and he wonders if that’s nerves or excitement or just another side effect of the drug coursing through his veins. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” he asks finally and Molly sighs once more, shrugging non committedly.

“To be completely honest, I have no idea. How do you feel about it? Is it something you’d be comfortable with?”

Mycroft considers this for a beat, although the pain makes it hard to think: all he really wants is for it to be gone and if that can actually help…

It leaves the question of who to ask though. Except there’s only one Alpha Mycroft knows well enough to ask and, to be honest, he’s the only person he would want to share this with in any case. Then again, he’d rather have it not be in such circumstances, but alas…

“Could you… would you fetch Greg, please?” he asks in a barely audible murmur and Molly nods solemnly, standing up.

“Of course,” she agrees. “He’ll be here shortly.”

Mycroft nods, lying down on the bed once more, hugging his knees close, focusing on breathing. His heart aches and he’s not quite sure why, although it’s nothing compared with the ache within his very bones.

He closes his eyes and waits.

* * *

 

There’s a knock on the door, but Mycroft feels too weak to even attempt to speak. The pain seems to get worse by the minute and all he can do is curl onto himself and whimper helplessly, feeling betrayed by his own body. Now that he knows what’s happening to him, he’s aware of his state of arousal, but the pain is so bad that it’s almost an afterthought, certainly not his most pressing concern.

A whiff of a wonderful scent fills his nostrils and the knot his entrails seem to have turned into loosens a little. He looks up to find Greg at the door and he whimpers once again, a voice in the back of his mind telling him he needs to get close to the Alpha, that the pain will stop if he gets close enough.

But moving is out of the realm of possibilities right now. He tries to sit up, but he fails miserably and so can only whimper some more, hoping the other man will get the message and step closer. The Alpha looks wild, pupils blown wide, nostrils flaring, no doubt taking in Mycroft’s own scent. Under normal circumstances he thinks he’d be a little embarrassed by the smell permeating every inch of the room, but right now that’s not important at all.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime but can’t be more than a minute, Greg steps closer, watching Mycroft closely, almost warily. Without any conscious thought, the Omega practically pounces on him, once he’s close enough to touch, pulling him into the bed with him, wrapping his arms and legs around him, urging him to press as close as possible.

It’s nice, Mycroft thinks distantly. The pain is still there, but he’s not quite as focused on it anymore. Greg’s sole presence seems to help and he finds himself burying his face in his partner’s neck, taking a long whiff. He smells delicious, as delicious as ever and Mycroft’s brain-mouth filter seems to have broken, because he says as much, along with half articulated pleads, that probably don’t make a great deal of sense.

He feels less like himself with each passing minute. It’s always the same with his Heat: he loses true focus of who he is and what he’s doing, the urge for relief much more important than any sense of self consciousness he might have. Having Greg this close is amazing, much better than he ever even dared to imagine and all he wants is for them to lie like this, tangled together, holding the other man close as an oversized octopus.

For a while, he’s content just lying like that, allowing his mind to remain perfectly blank, not worrying about a thing. He knows it’s likely it won’t be enough at some point, but for now, he’s happy like this.

He closes his eyes, humming contently to himself.

There’s nothing else he’d like right now.

* * *

 

He’s not aware of having done so, but he must have dozed off at some point. When he wakes up again, he finds Greg’s arms are still wrapped around him, one hand lazily tracing circles over the small of his back. It’s nice, he thinks, but now his throat feels all patched up and the pain is back, although it hasn’t reached the unbearable levels from before.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound scapes him. Greg however seems to notice he’s awake and he sits up right away, pulling away and Mycroft whines pitifully, earning himself a soft shushing sound from his companion.

“Here,” the Alpha murmurs, passing him a glass of water. “Molly said we need to keep you hydrated.”

Mycroft nods absentmindedly, drinking the water greedily. Once he’s done he passes the glass back to Greg and leans against the pillows, focusing on breathing. “How are you feeling?” Greg asks, sitting on the bed once more, pulling him into his arms and Mycroft goes willingly, practically purring like a cat, much to his companion’s amusement.

“Not so good,” he answers honestly, burying his face on Greg’s neck. “But it’s better with you here.”

The Alpha hums thoughtfully, rubbing circles over the small of his back once more. “Do you… umm… are you sure you want this? With me?”

Mycroft huffs, because that’s a stupid question. “Better than the other two options,” he jokes, although he’ll later reflect maybe his tone wasn’t playful enough or maybe the situation was too serious for Greg to pick on it. “I trust you,” he adds, nuzzling his partner’s jaw. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

Greg hums once more, before encouraging him to lie down on the bed, kissing his cheek once, tenderly. “If I do anything you don’t want or like--”

“I’ll tell you,” Mycroft promises, painfully aware of his building arousal. He can feel some pain, radiating from his very core, but with Greg nuzzling his neck it becomes increasingly difficult to care much about anything else.

Greg’s chin is resting on his abdomen now, watching him intently as his fingers dig into his hip bones, still tracing circles. It feels relaxing, pleasant more than arousing and Mycroft sighs contently, staring at his companion through half closed eyelids. Greg smiles at him gently, before spreading his legs a little more and placing himself between them, still watching him closely, looking for any signs of discomfort or hesitation.

Mycroft is way past either, truth to be told. Not only the scene seems taken out of one of the fantasies he occasionally indulges in, but the Heat is making his dizzy. The Alpha hasn’t even done anything yet, he’s well aware, and yet he feels ready to burst.

And then Greg takes him into his mouth while one of his fingers starts circling his rim and it just becomes too much for him to handle. Mycroft writhes on the bed, moaning loudly, uncaring of the noise he’s making and even if he cared, he doubts there’ll be anything he could do to stop himself. 

He’s clawing at his partner’s back, he notices somewhat belatedly and he fists his hands on the sheets then, instead. There are light nail marks over Greg’s shoulders and arms, but the Alpha doesn’t seem to have noticed, busy as he is. Mycroft’s heart is beating loudly inside his chest, so hard it’s almost painful and he’s not quite sure how much longer he can carry on like this. Molly had said that sedating him wasn’t an option, because they’d be risking heart failure and he wonders if his heart won’t end giving up anyway.

How do people do this on regular basis, anyway?

And yet, despite all the pleasure, there’s something that doesn’t feel quite right. There’s a voice in the back of his head, nagging him about something, but it’s impossible for him to focus on it. Something’s missing, something important, but what?

Greg pulls away right then and Mycroft makes a desperate sound, unconsciously reaching for the other man right away. Greg smiles softly, holding him by the wrists, his thumbs tracing small circles over them. “Do you think you can get on your hands and knees for me, darling? It’ll make it easier for you afterwards.”

_ Darling,  _ Mycroft thinks somewhat deliriously and hurries to get into position, even though his body starts protesting at all the sudden movement. His legs feel weak and his arms even weaker, completely incapable of holding him upright and he thinks that no, this was a terrible idea: he liked it much better with him on his back, when he didn’t have to worry about--

But then Greg has drapped himself over him, one arm around his waist, helping him not to collapse face first on the bed, the other on his hip, holding him gently. He can feel the tip of his erection pressing against his entrance and he moans as the Alpha starts pushing into him.

It’s simultaneously the best feeling in the world and so  _ bloody painful. _ He feels like he’s being torn open from the inside and he knows that’s not normal, but the pain has nothing on the pleasure it brings him to know how close he is to the other man, to know they’re as close as two people can possibly be. He’s moaning and whimpering and he has no idea whether he’s doing it out of pleasure or pain, but it just doesn’t matter. It seems like nothing could possibly matter in this minute, nothing other than Greg’s closeness, his soft encouraging words, his warm breath on the back of Mycroft’s neck.

He comes silently, with a full body shiver and all his strength abandons him. Greg tightens his hold around his waist, since his hands give up on him and he nearly topples down. He’s distantly aware of the Alpha’s increasingly jerky movements, signaling he’s close to his climax too and Mycroft is happy to let him do as he pleases, feeling content and weightless, the pain radiating from his core finally dissipating.

He can feel the Alpha’s knot slipping past his rim and he makes a soft sound, not used to the feeling at all, but it’s not unpleasant, not really. Greg rolls him onto his side and Mycroft understands why he suggested this position: even though they’re locked together, it’s not uncomfortable and it’s nice, having the Alpha draped around his back, holding him protectively.

He snuggles closer, closing his eyes and soon enough he succumbs to sleep, without a care in the world.

* * *

 

Keeping track of how much time passes it’s near impossible and soon enough Mycroft decides it can’t be that important. He eats every now and then, although very little and drinks just as little. He feels weakened, but he’s not in much pain anymore and he’s willing to count that as progress.

The drug is getting flushed out of his system, he can tell by the way the pain gets better with each passing day. He can’t imagine having had to go through this hell while trapped at the human lab and he thanks the gods everyday for having been rescued before that. He tries not to think about it, because it makes him angry and upset, but sometimes he can’t help it.

Greg remains at his side during the whole ordeal, fetching him food and water on occasion, looking after him tenderly. He does enjoy the sex a great deal, although he’s a little concerned he’s not doing much for his partner’s own pleasure.  _ It’s not the point,  _ Greg tells him, when he brings the subject up but Mycroft isn’t happy with that answer: he does want to give Greg pleasure and he very much wishes they’ll get to do this again someday, when he’s not overwhelm by his stupid biology.

He thinks they were getting somewhere just before the humans took them. He’s not sure where, of course, and a part of him thinks it might all have been wishful thinking, but he tries to remain hopeful.

It’s all he can do, really.

* * *

 

The worst of the drug’s effect seems to have passed; he certainly feels more clear headed than ever before. He’s much more aware of his surroundings and his actions, careful about his movements, not holding his companion as if life depended on it.

With this new found clarity, the desire for a much meaningful encounter presents itself. Before, nothing other than getting Greg as close as possible as soon as possible seemed to matter, but now he wishes to linger. To memorize every little detail, to enjoy every single touch.

The Alpha has just finished preparing him, but Mycroft is in no rush to get in his usual position. Instead he pulls Greg towards him, linking his arms around his partner’s neck, nuzzling the underside of his jaw tenderly. It’s nice, just enjoying the closeness and fulfilling in a whole different way. Greg makes a soft pleased sound and Mycroft smiles to himself, before biting on his lover’s jaw, sucking lightly.

Greg groans and attempts to pull away, but Mycroft tightens his grip around him, pulling him close once more, his mouth searching for the other man’s, eager for a kiss. It’s curious, he thinks, that despite all they’ve shared so far they’re still missing that.

That’s probably for the best, Mycroft thinks. He’d rather be lucid enough to remember his first kiss.

Except Greg avoids his mouth, turning his head to the side on the last second. He kisses Mycroft’s cheek and continues kissing his way down his jaw and his neck. The rejection stings, but Mycroft is willing to write it off as a slight misunderstanding, Greg missing his evident invitation to kiss him properly. He tilts his head instead, offering his neck for better access, most aware of the Alpha’s teeth scraping his mating gland. That’s out of the question, definitely, but maybe… in the future…

It suddenly becomes too much. Mycroft slides his hands down his partner’s shoulders and then upwards, caressing his neck before coming to gently cup his face. Greg looks at him then, eyes locking briefly, stealing Mycroft’s breath.

The Omega’s eyes drop to his partner’s lips, hoping to make his intention clear. Greg licks his own lips and Mycroft decides that’s invitation enough, so he leans in for a kiss, only for his lips to connect with Greg’s cheek once more.

_ Oh.  _ His heart sinks and his stomach twist unpleasantly. Of course, he should have realized sooner. He was put in an impossible situation and Greg was just trying to make it bearable for him, probably out of some sense of duty and maybe even friendship. But it doesn’t mean anything, certainly not all what Mycroft wishes it meant.

He closes his eyes in an effort to stop his tears from falling and pushes the Alpha away softly, getting on his hands and knees when the other man complies. He does not want his companion to notice the way his expression has crumbled, his heartbreak easy to see.

He can feel Greg’s hesitancy, but ultimately he doesn’t ask and Mycroft is thankful for it: he’s not certain he could say a word without breaking apart in the process. His body is urging him to continue, the Heat still a convenient excuse to carry on. It hurts, knowing he’s been mistaken all along, but the idea of stopping--

His body and his mind refuse to. The pain is barely noticeable by now, he could probably ride it out on his own, but he  _ doesn’t want to.  _ It’s plain craziness and it’ll no doubt make him ache more in the future, but right now…

He might as well enjoy what little time he has left.

And afterwards…

Well. There’ll be time to think about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> As I said, this might fall a little into the dubious consent but I tried not to make it so. Of course, we’re missing Greg’s POV, so there’s that too, but overall… yeah, I’m not sure.  
> Anyway, let me know what you thought? And also, would you like to see Greg’s POV or should I just stick to Mycroft’s?  
> I swear there’s a happy ending coming! There’s just some old fashioned misunderstanding-related angst in the way and then everyone shall be happy ;)  
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I’m sorry for the late update, but this week has been hectic although better late than never, right?  
> So, without further ado, enjoy!

Mycroft wakes up alone, which, he supposes, it’s to be expected but it still hurts, killing what little bit of hope he still had left.

He sighs, forcing himself to sit up despite the fact he feels entirely too weak to move. Bile tastes bitter in the back of his throat and he closes his eyes, allowing himself a few seconds to wallow in self pity. 

What a fool he’s been.

But it’s too late for regrets of course and the best he can do right now is gatter what’s left of his dignity, find strength in his pride and leave now, before he manages to embarrass himself further.

He stands on unsteady legs, gathering the soiled sheets and tossing them on the laundry basket. He doesn’t allow his eyes to linger on the small trinkets scattered around the (their) room, briskly putting it back in order. Fortunately there’s not much to clean and even less to straighten up and soon enough he finds himself scurrying in the direction of the bathroom, determined to take a bath before gathering what little he has and leave for good.

He feels like someone has reached into his chest and pulled out his heart, but he urges himself to keep moving and not think about anything. He goes through the motions in automatic, unwilling to break, clinging to the shreeds of his sanity.

If he starts thinking about it, if he allows himself to linger in the pain…

Well. He doesn’t think he’ll ever recover.

* * *

 

A soft knock on the door startles him, making him jump a little. He has no idea how long he’s been sitting on the bathtub, but it must have been quite a while since the water has gone cold long ago and his fingertips are all wrinkly. Mycroft sighs, rubbing a hand over his face: so much for leaving as soon as possible.

“Come on in,” he murmurs, already standing up and reaching for a towel, his back to the door. 

“Hey,” Molly greets softly, closing the door after her, hands clasped in front of her, looking slight apprehensive. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Well enough,” Mycroft says flippantly, doing his best to not show how he’s falling apart on the inside. “A little tired and perhaps a bit sore, but overall… I’m fine,” he replies, drying himself off, avoiding the woman’s eyes.

Molly frowns, stepping closer. “Did you… are you hurt?” she stares at him up and down, seemingly concerned, making Mycroft blush a little due the close inspection he’s being submitted to. “Alphas, I swear. I thought Greg would know how to behave, considering he does have quite the experience on the subject, but evidently--”

The last thing Mycroft wants to know it’s just how many other Omegas his beloved has helped through their Heats. “Molly, I’m fine,” he interrupts, perhaps a tad more sharply than he intended. “He didn’t… it was… Greg was a perfect gentleman.”

Molly’s frown doesn’t disappear, though. “But he hurt you,” she whispers softly and while it’s clear she doesn’t understand what’s going on inside his head, she does know something is amiss.

“It’s my own damn fault,” Mycroft argues, shaking his head dejectedly. “He didn’t… I’m the one who messed up.”

It looks like the female wants to ask, but her ability to know when not to push an issue is one of the reasons Mycroft likes her so much. “Alright,” she agrees finally, nodding slowly. “But physically… you’re fine? There’s no lingering pain?”

Mycroft shakes his head once and the woman nods once again, expression thoughtful. “Very well. I’d like to conduct a full physical examination if that’s all the same to you, though. And I’d like to take a couple of blood samples, so we can run some tests and figure out if there’s something else we need to be worried about.”

Mycroft nods and Molly sighs, running her fingers through her hair. “There’s… something else,” she murmurs and that’s when Mycroft notices she’s been carrying what looks like a small pillbox in her hand. “The pill is made for humans, so you’ll need to double the dose, but it should do the trick just fine.”

Mycroft frowns, confused, but Molly vaguely gesturing in the direction of his abdomen clears everything up quite nicely. “Ah, yes,” he murmurs, taking the pills with one hand and placing the other over his abdomen. “Is that… I mean, if I wished to keep it…”

“That’s completely your choice,” Molly assures him earnestly. “It’s entirely up to you. It…. it’s not terribly common for unbonded Omegas to have pups, but it’s not unheard of either. Most Alphas help with the raising of said pups, but it doesn’t… they’re not… it’s not binding.”

Mycroft nods once again, still caressing his abdomen. “I’ll meet you outside in a bit?” Molly nods understandingly and she slips out of the bathroom, leaving Mycroft to contemplate his options.

What should he do? 

If he’s honest with himself, he has always wanted children, although he hadn’t thought it was in the cards for him. He never could have condemned a child to grow up at the humans’ lab, but now that he’s free…

And there’s also the fact that it’s Greg’s pup. And while the Alpha might not want anything to do with him (not in that sense, in any case), Mycroft can cling to this little bit of him. It might not be ideal and it’s certainly not all he’d want, but it’s  _ something _ . He worries it’s a bit selfish and perhaps even unfair, but Molly did say the Alpha would have no obligation towards him, so it’s not like he’s trying to  _ trap  _ the other man. He just wants… if it’s all he can have...

With that thought in mind, he puts the pills back into their box, telling himself it’ll be enough.

Or at least he hopes so.

* * *

 

“How did you find us, anyway?” he asks, while Molly starts with her examination. He flinches at her touch, even though by now he knows she means no harm but medical examinations always make him nervous and after what happened just a week ago…

“Your brother, mostly, with a bit of help from Irene. She was devastated when you were taken, but she couldn’t contact us right away since it was very likely someone was keeping an eye on her. But she’s nothing if not resourceful and eventually she found her way here. After that, she shared what she knew of human research labs close by and Sherlock… well, I’m not completely sure how he did it, but he narrowed it down to three options. We got lucky and found you on the first try.” She shrugs, a sad pensive look on her face. “It took us too long, though.”

“Not at all,” Mycroft argues, placing a hand over hers. “You found us and you saved us.”

Molly smiles, patting his hand. “I just wish… it must have been very difficult.” It’s Mycroft’s turn to shrug. It was, but he does not wish to discuss it. “Irene was heartbroken. Kept blaming herself for putting you in a position that made you easy to find and while that might have been somewhat true…”

“No, I… I mean… I agreed to help her. And she didn’t mean us to get caught so…” he shrugs once again. “It doesn’t matter. How is she, anyway? She wasn’t hurt, was she?”

“Oh, she’s still sporting a bit of a black eye,” Molly replies. “But other than that… oh, and she’s moved with us indefinitely, so there’s that too. You could probably visit her sometime soon.”

“Is she living with you?” he asks, keeping his tone light, trying not to sound like he’s implying something, but the woman blushes furiously anyway. “Good for you,” he tells her, smiling, thinking it’s indeed quite wonderful. His love might have turned out to be unrequited, but he’s not bitter enough to resent someone else happiness.

“Oh, hush,” Molly argues, still blushing madly. “It’s… we’re taking it slow.” She’s smiling though, eyes full of affection. “It’s… good.”

Mycroft nods, thinking it must be. He stares at the ceiling, while Molly continues with the examination, wistfully wondering if it’ll come the day when he’ll get to experiment being in love and being loved back. It’s hard to imagine himself loving someone other than Greg right now, but he supposes it’s a matter of time.

After all, time heals all wounds, doesn’t it?

* * *

 

He had intended to leave as soon as Molly was done with him, but he finds himself lingering in the room, looking around himself wistfully. He had wanted-- god, he had wanted so many things. But you can’t always get what you want, he supposes, and he must look at the bright side: he’s free and safe and isn’t that much more than he ever thought he would have? 

He caresses his abdomen absentmindedly, wondering once more if he made the right decision. It might make things a bit… weird between him and Greg in the future, but maybe he’s just overthinking it. While he has learned blood-families tend to stick together, the pack is one big family, where everyone looks out for everyone else, so maybe… 

It’ll be fine, he tells himself.

He stands up, picking up the sack he borrowed to carry his stuff. He doesn’t have much, not really: a nice coat Greg gave him for the winter and some human clothes the Alpha gifted to him for their trips to the human town. There a couple of trinkets he has collected around town, some notebooks where he made annotations. It doesn’t even fill half of the sack and there’s something depressing about that, although he supposes he has far much more than when he first came here.

Before the can reach the bedroom’s door though, it opens abruptly, startling him. Greg blinks, surprised by their sudden closeness and Mycroft takes a step back, staring sheepishly at him. The Alpha’s eyes flicker to the sack he’s carrying and he frowns. “What are you doing?” he asks, an edge of something like panic in his tone, although Mycroft thinks that might just be his imagination playing tricks on him.

“I’m moving with my brother,” Mycroft says and while he hasn’t actually discussed the matter with Sherlock (heck, he hasn’t seen him since he helped rescue him), he knows he won’t turn him away. 

“Why?” Greg asks and there’s definitely a note of panic in his voice, looking around the room wildly, as if hoping to find some clue to Mycroft’s behaviour. “Are you… did I… why?” he repeats, almost pleading and Mycroft’s heart contracts painfully in his chest.

“I don’t… I can’t stay here,” he murmurs, avoiding the other man’s eyes, feeling small and vulnerable. “I… surely you understand why?” he says, pleading too, not wanting to say it out loud. They’ve gotten used to each other’s company and they get along great, but Mycroft can’t stay, not now when the heartbreak is so recent, when he feels he can’t breath in Greg’s presence, his chest feeling tight with unnamed emotions, his mind a whirlwind of scattered thoughts.

They remain in silence for a beat, both processing the moment and what it means for them and their friendship. “I see,” the Alpha murmurs softly. “Mycroft, I-- I’m sorry. If there’s anything--”

“No,” Mycroft interrupts, hugging himself in an effort to chase away the chill taking over his bones. “No, it’s not… I think… I think I just need some time and space.” He looks up, meeting Greg’s eyes, noticing how they look a little misty. “I do want us to continue being friends, Greg.”

“Of course,” the other man agrees earnestly, reaching for him but thinking better of it soon enough. “I… yes, of course, if you feel leaving is for the best…” He sounds…  _ heartbroken. _ But that makes no sense whatsoever, because Mycroft is the one who got his heart broken and now… now…

“Goodbye then,” he murmurs morosely, brushing past his companion, careful to keep his expression from betraying his thoughts and he hurries down the hall, feeling like he’s escaping and, in a way, he supposes he is.

He forces himself not to look back, never mind every instinct in his body is urging him to turn. He makes his way downstairs, every step heavier than the last, heart beating madly inside his chest.

He needs time, he tells himself.

It’ll be fine. He just needs time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> This was a bit short and quite angsty, but I swear it’s going to end well. As you can see, all the boys really need to do is talk :P  
> I’m still thinking about writing that chapter from Greg’s POV, but I fear it might make this longer than I intended. It would satisfy my need for extra angst, probably, but plot wise… I don’t know. Maybe I should switch POVs? But I fear it won’t look very consistent with the rest of the fic, so… I don’t know. I guess it’ll depend on my inspiration ;)  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s the new chapter! I so hate transitional chapters-- They never feel completely right to me. And while part of me wanted to just skip to the happy ending… well, I thought it worked better like this :P  
> Anyway, I hope you’ll like it!

Sherlock doesn’t say a word when he opens the door to find his brother standing on the other side, looking as if someone had gutted him. He pursues his lips, annoyance and anger easy to read, but Mycroft doesn’t think it’s directed at him or at least he hopes so. If his brother turns him away now, he’d be alone, with nowhere to go and no clue what to do now.

But luckily, Sherlock simply moves away, gesturing for him to enter and then leads him through the house, still not saying anything. It’s… unnerving, truth to be told, but Mycroft is in no particular mood to discuss his circumstances and so he supposes his brother’s silence is, in fact, a kindness.

Sherlock leads him to an almost empty bedroom, only a small mattress occupying the center of it. He allows Mycroft to walk in first and he places his small sack on top of the mattress, looking around the room absentmindedly. It’s small and so terribly bare that it’s quite depressing, making him ache fiercely at the thought of his lost room (along with everything else he lost), but he supposes he’ll make it work.

He notices Sherlock is still at the door, a curious expression on his face. He wants to say something, that’s clear enough but he finally shakes his head sadly, steps closer to Mycroft and pulls him into a hug, which takes him completely by surprise. A few tears gather in the corner of his eyes, but he refuses to shed them, instead hugging his brother close.

“It’ll be fine,” Sherlock assures him when he pulls away, patting his shoulder in what Mycroft supposes it’s meant to be a comforting gesture. 

Mycroft nods, not quite convinced, but not really wanting to argue the point.

One can only hope.

* * *

 

The next few days pass in a bit of a blur. A part of Mycroft wants to simply lie down and wallow in self pity, but his most practical side insists there’s little use on it. So he forces himself to go through his days as he’d normally do, showing up at the town hall to see if anyone needs any help, with the only change that he now eats at his brother’s home and so he helps with the meals. Harry is thankful for the help with the cooking, since her pup is still at that stage where she sleeps little and leaves her mother little time to do anything other than look after her.

He does his best not to think about a certain Alpha and he avoids him like the plague when he’s at the town’s hall. He’s careful to stay out of the places where he knows he’s likely to run into Greg and while it might be a little cowardly, making him cringe a bit by how  _ pathetic  _ he’s being, he figures it’s truly for the best.

He needs time and space. That’s all.

He runs into Molly more often than not and the woman always regard him with a thoughtful expression he’s not quite sure how to interpret. They make polite chit chat whenever their paths converge and he can tell there’s something she wants to tell him, but she’s not sure how. He suspects it has to do with Greg, although for the life of him he can’t tell for sure why he thinks that.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. No, scratch that: it’s just wishful thinking.

On the evenings, he lies in bed staring at the ceiling, rubbing a hand over his abdomen almost obsessively. He can not know for sure if he’s pregnant, but he knows the odds are he is. He does want to have this pup, but he can’t help to feel a bit nervous about what the future holds for them.

There’s nothing to do but take one day at the time, he supposes.

And yet--

* * *

 

It must be weird, Mycroft thinks, for someone so used to human mannerisms, to suddenly find themselves living in a werewolf community. It had been odd for him and difficult, but it had never actually felt  _ wrong.  _ He had been raised by humans, but he had never been treated as one, the scientists always being most emphatic about his  _ differences  _ and so while the life at the werewolf town had been quite a change, it had been a welcome one.

Irene doesn’t seem to dislike it here either, but it’s clear as water she doesn’t feel like she belongs. She’s too different and she has different customs she doesn’t seem capable of shaking just yet. She still wears human clothes, which make her stand out when she goes into the town and while most werewolves seem determined to simply ignore her, a lot of them keep eying her with open suspicion.

“It’s not like I can blame them, you know?” Irene murmurs, toying with the hem of her blouse and Mycroft wonders briefly if the real reason humans use clothes is not to cover themselves and get some sense of modesty, but because clothes are such an useful distraction when facing an uncomfortable subject. “I mean… I’ve seen what human doctors have done to so many of you.” She looks away, biting her lip. “I--”

“I swear that if you apologize one more time I’m going to scream,” Mycroft interrupts, although there’s no sharpness in his tone and Irene smiles briefly. “It’s fine, Irene, really.”

“It really isn’t,” she argues, leaning back on her seat. “But I suppose it could have been worse. At least both you and Greg are not terribly worse for wear now, are you?”

He supposes they’re not, although their relationship is quite changed now. Thinking about that won’t help, though and in any case, he can not exactly blame it on the human scientists, can he? Not entirely at least: his hand might have been forced, but he choose to proceed as he did.

“Have you seen him?” Irene asks, suddenly leaning forward, watching him with such intensity that it makes something in Mycroft go into high alert.

“Can we please not discuss my love life?” he asks, trying to keep his tone light and playful and missing the mark by far. “Yours seems much more interesting nowadays.”

Irene’s lips curve upwards, a far away dreamy look taking over her face, but she shakes it off quickly. “None of that, mister. You’re not distracting me from the matter a hand.”

Oh, well. It was worth a try. “Not really,” he answers, shrugging carelessly. “We’ve run into each other a couple of times at the town’s hall but I… I never linger. I do not wish… I think it’s better… I just need time.”

Irene pursues her lips, looking unconvinced. “Well, I know next to nothing about werewolves actual courting procedures because, you know, that’s the one thing Molly isn’t exactly eager to discuss, but I think… something doesn’t quite fit, you know?”

Mycroft stares at her confusedly, head tilted to the side. “What do you mean?”

She scrunches her nose, evidently thinking long and hard about what she’s about to say. “I don’t know exactly. Greg just seems… different. And I suppose I never saw him in this particular context and I suppose I never really understood the magnitude of his responsibilities or how they seem to burden him but I just… I mean… when he used to go with you at the hospital he simply… it’s like he’s a whole different person.”

Mycroft isn’t sure how to interpret that, but he figures there’s not much use on overthinking it. “I don’t know what you mean,” he answers honestly and the woman sighs, running her fingers through her hair.

“I don’t really know either,” she murmurs softly, staring at nothing in particular.

They sit in silence for the rest of the afternoon, both lost in their own thoughts, both uncertain of their place here and if they’re doing the right thing. They never talk much and their conversations always seem to end on an uncertain, perhaps a tad unpleasant note.

But their little meetings are comforting in a way.

Mycroft just can’t explain how.

* * *

 

“I can not stand another minute of your sulking,” Sherlock announces in his usual dramatic manner, planting himself in front of Mycroft, startling him out of his silent musings. He had been staring outside the window, absentmindedly caressing his abdomen, completely having forgotten about his surroundings and the fact he’s supposedly hiding the fact he might be pregnant.

He’s not sure why would he hide such thing since it’ll be noticeable soon enough, but he’s not quite ready just yet.

“I’m not sulking,” he murmurs sourly, although he supposes he’s not making a very convincing argument. Sherlock huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, looking annoyed although his eyes give away his concern.

“Sherlock, leave your brother alone,” John prompts from his place on the other side of the living room, not even sparing a look in their direction, eyebrows furrowed as he reads something.

Sherlock huffs once again, glaring at his partner briefly, before turning his attention back to Mycroft. “What the hell did Greg do to you, anyway?” he demands angrily and Mycroft shakes his head, unwilling to discuss the subject which makes his brother roll his eyes dramatically. “Suit yourself then. I’ll just go over the town hall to give him a piece of my mind--”

“No, Sherlock--” Mycroft and John say at the same time, the second standing up to physically restrain the younger man. “It won’t help matter one bit,” John states calmly and Sherlock huffs. “Sherlock, please.”

“No,” he argues, pulling away from John. “He hurt my brother. It’s only fair.”

Mycroft’s heart swells in his chest at his brother’s display of concern and protectiveness. They might not be blood-related and Sherlock might just be a Beta, but he can be quite protective alright.

“Sherlock, it’s fine,” he interrupts, sensing this could escalate to a full blown up argument between the mates. His brother rolls his eyes again, unbelieving and Mycroft sighs. “Well, no, it isn’t, but it really isn’t Greg’s fault. I brought this upon myself.”

“Oh no,” Sherlock says, shaking his head. “None of that. You’re the one emotionally stunned and he has all the experience in the world when it comes to dealing with…” he waves a hand vaguely, a light blush covering his cheeks now. “He should have known better.”

Mycroft sighs, thinking that’s not a completely fair assessment. “Sherlock, really. I’m… well, evidently not fine, but it’ll past. It’s hardly the worst that has ever happened to me.”

“Which doesn’t make it okay,” his brother argues stubbornly, arms still crossed over his chest. “But alright,” he concedes finally, although he doesn’t sound convinced. “I’ll let the matter rest. For now.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft murmurs honestly, feeling quite moved. Sherlock makes a face, no doubt unhappy with the outcome but he suddenly throws his arms around Mycroft, pulling him into an awkward but comforting hug.

“I just want you to be happy,” he murmurs softly, burying his face on Mycroft’s neck. “I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Mycroft’s heart skips a beat, but he doesn’t say a word, just hugging his brother tighter.

There’s nothing he can say to that, after all.

* * *

 

His scent has always been fairly light, barely perceptible, but definitely there. Mycroft isn’t sure what to make of the sudden change in it, of how strong and earthy it becomes: it feels odd and it’s quite weird how much more aware of it he’s now. 

Other people must notice too, but they’re either too polite to say something or are completely disinterested on the subject. Mycroft isn’t sure why it bothers him, but it does: it’s such a noticeable change, but no one will comment on it.

Until the day someone does, of course.

It’s a regular day at the town hall; a rather slow one in fact and he’s sitting by his own on a small room where the accounting records are kept. It’s a bit cramped due all the documents it keeps, but it doesn’t really bother him.

The door opens, startling him a little. They’re in the middle of the winter, so the days are quite cold and while Mycroft is wearing his nice coat, he’s cold still so he had thought closing the door would help him to keep the warmth in. He had thought nothing of it, not really, but now it occurs him the closed door might not have just keep the warmth in, but also his scent, making it even more noticeable.

It wouldn’t matter, he doesn’t think, except for the fact that the person at the door happens to be the last person he wants to comment on his change of scent (or find out about it, rather).

They regard each other in silence. It’s quite evident Greg wasn’t expecting to find him here and it occurs Mycroft that maybe the reason why he’s succeeded so far in avoiding the Alpha it’s because he’s avoiding him too. Now however, it seems fate has thrown them into each other’s way, with no way of escaping that doesn’t look like they’re running away.

He stands up and straightens his shoulders, telling himself he can do this, even if he’s not quite convinced that’s true. He puts on a placid smile and silently prays it doesn’t look half as forced as it feels.

“Good morning,” he greets pleasantly, proud of himself for keeping his voice steady. 

“Morning,” Greg replies absentmindedly, a light frown obscuring his features. He steps closer to Mycroft and while the Omega wishes to step back, the sudden closeness making him feel lightheaded, he stands his ground, although he avoids Greg’s eyes. “You… smell different.”

“Yes,” Mycroft answers plainly, because, what else can he say? He’s not showing yet, since he’s barely a couple of months along, but he supposes the change in his scent is proof enough of his state.

“I… You kept the pup,” Greg murmurs, sounding somewhere between dejected and hopeful. He’s standing close, way much closer than what would be polite and while a part of Mycroft is urging him to run away before he does something foolish, he can’t bring himself to.

“Yes, I…” He shrugs non committedly, unsure of what he ought to say. “Molly said it was fine if I did. That it didn’t mean you… I mean, I don’t expect you to…”

“Oh,” Greg says softly, sounding oddly disappointed. “Yes, that’s-- that was of course your prerogative. And if you don’t want me…” he trails off awkwardly, staring at anything but Mycroft now. “I won’t interfere, of course.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mycroft argues softly, voice a barely audible whisper. “I just meant-- don’t feel obligated to--”

Greg smiles, a little thing that probably doesn’t even deserve to be called that but that makes Mycroft’s heart skip a beat. The Alpha has placed a hand over his hip, probably without any conscious thought of having done so and has pulled him close, so he can’t smell him a bit better. It’s…  _ nice,  _ if a bit confusing.

“G-G-Greg?” he stammers out, when the other man steps even closer, sinking his nose in the place where Mycroft’s neck meets his shoulder and while his skin is tingling, urging him to give into the sensation, he knows that’s unwise.

His awkward stammering seems to bring the Alpha back to reality though and he hurries to step back, a bright blush covering his cheeks now. “Sorry. Sorry, I-- I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry.”

Mycroft is too, for having said a word, specially when all he wants right now is step close once more and surround himself in the warmth and the scent of the Alpha. “Don’t worry about it,” he murmurs dejectedly, staring at the floor, cheeks tinted pink.

For a beat, neither of them speak, until the silence becomes uncomfortable, making Mycroft itch. He wants… he wants…

“I… I should probably get going,” Greg announces, turning on his heel sharply and hurrying outside the room before Mycroft can even open his mouth, the door closing ominously behind him.

Through the course of his life, Mycroft has suffered a lot of pain. And while, logically, he knows this isn’t the worst he’s ever endured, that he has survived much worse--

It still hurts like hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> Just one more chapter to go! Hopefully it’ll be done by next week, so… almost there! ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! At the end of our tale!  
> I hope the ending doesn’t disappoint ;)

So far, the worst symptom of the pregnancy (by far) is the morning sickness. When he wakes up in the morning, more often than not, Mycroft’s stomach turns unpleasantly, prompting him to abandon his bed as soon as possible and rush into the bathroom, where he empties his stomach’s contents, which, this early in the morning, are usually nothing but bilis, which leaves a bitter taste in his stomach.

Good god. How do people survive this?

He’s kneeling on the ground, trying to decide whether or not he’s actually done, when a voice comes from behind him. “You’re actually lucky, you know?” Harry says, tone playful and Mycroft looks at her from over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes at her, but the woman only laughs goodnaturedly. “I’m serious!” she exclaims, amused. “You only started with the morning sickness on the third month! I actually started  _ suspecting _ I was pregnant because of the morning sickness, one month into the pregnancy.”

That does sound even worse, truth to be told. “How did you survive?” he asks, which prompts more laughter from his companion.

“Lots of water and fiber,” she says, smiling sympathetically as she helps him to get up. “Don’t worry, you just have this month to go and that particular symptom will stop. The second trimester is the best, trust me.”

Which of course still leaves 3 months unaccounted for. But Mycroft is not in the mood to discuss that, not now anyway. He hums absentmindedly, reaching for his toothbrush, hoping the toothpaste won’t make the nausea come back.

“You should probably know,” Harry continues in a flippant tone, which of course just makes her next words all the more surprising. “Greg dropped by early. Wanted to see you, but… well, it inspired a bit of a debate among us, since we’re not quite sure whether or not you want to see him, but we decided to err on the side of caution and told him you were asleep. Which, you know, it wasn’t a lie exactly, although--”

Mycroft has all forgotten about brushing his teeth in favour of staring at Harry as if she has just grown another head. “What?” he asks finally, nearly choking on his own saliva and toothpaste and he makes a face, hurrying to wash out his mouth. “What?” he repeats, just as surprised as the first time.

Harry doesn’t answer right away, frowning instead. “Did you want to see him?” she asks, tone deadly serious now and Mycroft opens his mouth to answer, only to find _ he doesn’t know _ .

“I’m… not sure,” he replies slowly, not turning to face her, rather staring at their reflection on the mirror. “I… Why did he want to see me?”

Harry sighs, running a hand through her messy hair. “What happened between you two anyway?” she asks, watching him with a curious expression. “We’ve been trying to give you time and space, Mycroft, but I really think-- you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, of course, but you should talk to someone,” her tone is urgent, full of concern and it makes Mycroft feel somewhat guilty. “Did he hurt you? Did something you didn’t want?”

Mycroft would laugh, because nothing further from the truth and then it occurs him that he might have…  _ affected  _ Greg’s image in front of the pack. “No, of course not!” he says earnestly. “Do you… is that what people think?”

Harry sighs once again, shrugging one shoulder. “We don’t… it’s not something openly discussed, you know? And it’s not something someone would actually ask you or Greg about, nor would anyone dare to speculate about it out loud but… you seemed to be getting along great. In all honesty, half of the town was wondering when would you announce you were bonding and now…”

Mycroft makes a face, feeling as if someone had just hit him in the stomach. “It wasn’t like that. We didn’t… I mean…”

Harry frowns, tilting her head to the side. “You weren’t courting? Because everything seemed to suggest--and Molly did say--” she trails off awkwardly, biting her lip. “You really weren’t?”

A bitter laugh escapes Mycroft’s lips. “‘Course not,” he murmurs, hugging himself.

“Oh,” Harry says and she seems to be honestly surprised. “You rejected him?”

Mycroft laughs once again, an edge of hysteria in it and while he’s aware that he must look insane, he can’t quite control himself. He becomes distantly aware that John and Sherlock have showed up too, probably attracted by the noise and now they’re exchanging concerned glances with Harry, none of them sure of how to proceed.

He eventually manages to get himself back under control, though. “Me?” he asks, bitterness dripping from his every word. “Never. But Greg… he didn’t want me.”

His companions exchange glances again, all of them openly frowning now. “But-- but he was courting you,” John says slowly, as if trying to explain a difficult concept to a small child. “He gave you courting gifts.”

“What?”

Sherlock is watching him with a calculating expression on his face, the one he always gets when he’s thinking very hard about something and not liking the conclusions he’s drawing. “You didn’t know,” he deadpans suddenly and John and Harry turn to him, matching expression of horror in their faces.

“How could he not know?” John says, disbelieving but Sherlock just narrows his eyes at him and they seem to have an entirely silent conversation for a while. “Oh my god,” John says, his jaw dropping, turning to Harry then.

“No,” the woman says, turning to Mycroft once more. “Surely Greg told you?” Mycroft frowns, slowly turning around so he’s actually face to face with his companions now.

“Told me what?” he asks and his housemates share an horrified look once again. “Told me what?!” he demands once again, turning to Sherlock and his brother bites his lip rather harshly.

“I thought…” Sherlock begins, “I thought-- I thought it was a bit unwise of you to be jumping into a relationship so soon after… well,  _ everything  _ but it didn’t occur me you didn’t know you had jumped into a relationship!”

“I did not!” Mycroft protests angrily, quickly losing his temper, feeling lost and confused. “What the hell are you talking about?!”

Sherlock opens his mouth to speak, but John places a hand on his arm and shakes his head. He exchanges a quick look with Harry and the woman sighs, but nods. “It’s… well, you see, courting is a very specific process.  _ Proper courting,  _ that is, because of course people do date and just mess around often enough, but  _ courting  _ it’s a big deal. It’s never acknowledged out loud.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mycroft argues. “How would one know--?”

“We learn the steps very early in life,” Harry interrupts. “And newcomers… well, they usually get the explanation soon enough. I guess… Well, Greg and Molly normally do the explanations but I suppose--”

“Wait!” Mycroft interrupts, feeling lightheaded. “What does this courtship exactly implies? Because I think I would have noticed  _ something.  _ Greg never-- he didn’t-- he always behaved very gentlemanly towards me.”

Harry shakes her head. “Early stages of courtship don’t involve physical acts, but if the Omega accepts the gifts they’re presented with, it’s like… well, acknowledging they’re interested in the Alpha too and so every other Alpha should back down immediately.”

So he’s basically being carrying a sign that says  _ taken  _ and never knew about it. Huh. He’s not sure how he feels about that. “And those gifts you speak of?”

“It can be anything, really, but the meaning behind them is  _ I can take care of you.  _ So, you know, they cover the basic needs-- food, water, something for the cold,  _ shelter.  _ That’s the last one, actually and when Greg… when you started sleeping together…”

“In the same room!” Mycroft exclaims, blushing to the tip of his ears. “But in different beds! We never--”

“But that’s the point,” Harry interrupts. “He offered you… you were living at the town’s hall because you couldn’t move in here just yet, but when he brought you a bed of your own and you accepted it, making his room your room too-- and that was it.”

The information makes something in Mycroft contract painfully. He continues staring at his companions blankly, hoping that if they continue talking, things will start make sense at some point. “But… but he never… we didn’t… he wouldn’t even kiss me!” Mycroft exclaims, sounding rather desperate, because  _ he doesn’t understand _ . 

His housemates share another concerned look and Sherlock finally turns to him. “I think… It might be wiser if you talked to him. We can speculate at our heart’s content, but I fear we’re just distressing you further.”

_ Indeed they are! _ Mycroft thinks rather desperately, but he’s not sure he wants to talk to Greg, not right now anyway. He needs… time, probably and space, to process the information and figure out what he’s feeling, since right now all he feels is confusion and some vague anger.

“I… I think I’m going to lie down for a while,” he announces, heading in the direction of his room on unsteady legs. His companions let him go and he tries his very best to ignore their concerned looks as he walks away.

God, this day isn’t going as he thought it would  _ at all. _

He can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.

* * *

 

The morning sickness only seems to get worse through the course of the day, although he must admit he’s not sure if it’s really morning sickness anymore. He feels like his whole world has been turned around and he has no idea what he should do now. Someone should have told him about this courting thing (and he’ll make sure to tell Irene, now that he thinks about it. Didn’t she say Molly won’t talk of the subject?) and he’s…  _ angry  _ he supposes, about having been kept in the dark. He’s not sure why Greg would do such thing and while it also makes something that feels an awful lot like hope  _ flutter  _ inside his chest, he doubts that’s the best way to go about relationships:  _ lying  _ to the other person, even if it’s just by omission… that can’t be healthy.

By midday, he’s spent so much time just turning the idea inside his head that he has developed a migraine of epic proportions, but he somehow doubts continuing lying on bed will do him any favours. He drags himself to the bathroom, where he takes a quick shower and then grabs his winter coat, determined to face Greg once and for all. He feels like he’s missing something and it’s quite evident the Alpha is the only one who can give him the answers he needs.

As he pulls his coat closer to him, he wonders if this is one of those courting gifts he’s been told about. He hadn’t thought anything of it when Greg gave it to him: the days were getting colder and he had thought Greg had grown tired of Mycroft stealing his coats, except it seems that wasn’t it all. In retrospective… well, no, it doesn’t seem obvious, not at all and he’s still unsure how he feels about it.

He knows he likes Greg. He knows he had wanted their relationship to turn into something else, although he hadn’t been sure he was ready for that, at least not at first. And now--

Now he doesn’t know what he wants.

All he knows is that they’re in need of a very serious talk.

And afterwards… well, he guesses they’ll see.

* * *

 

He finds Greg at the town hall, exactly as he expected him to. The Alpha seems a little startled when Mycroft all but barges into what passes as his office, but he doesn’t protest when Mycroft closes and locks the door after him. He figures they could do without any distraction although he’s beginning to wonder if this is the best place for their talk.

Well. He supposes it’s too late for regrets.

“I’ve been informed you went looking for me this morning,” he states as calmly as he can, careful to keep his expression as mild as possible. He realizes he has no idea what else he can possibly say though and so he waits in silence, hoping for some clue on what else to say.

“Yes,” Greg says finally, when Mycroft fails to utter another word. “I… I wanted to see you,” he confesses softly and Mycroft notices the way his eyes keep dropping to his abdomen. His earlier conversation with his brother and family is still resonating inside his head, but the idea that Greg  _ actually wants him  _ and is not just concerned about his pup, is becoming increasingly ridiculous.

“You don’t need to worry about us,” Mycroft says, placing a hand over his abdomen, feeling slightly defensive and perhaps a tad hurt. “My pup and I are none of your concern.”

Something flashes in Greg’s eyes, but it’s gone before Mycroft can analyze it further. “I’m the pack’s leader,” Greg argues, defensiveness and perhaps some anger in his tone. “Of course it’s my business.”

“In a way, I suppose,” Mycroft agrees flippantly. “But it’s not a personal concern of yours and so there’s no need--”

“Why have you come here, Mycroft?” Greg snaps, sounding vaguely angry but mostly frustrated, he suspects. Mycroft knows he’s stalling, although for what he has no clue.

“Were you courting me?” he asks finally, because-- well, he supposes that’s the most important thing. And while hearing Greg say that no, he wasn’t, will hurt, at least he’ll be able to stop entertaining silly thoughts and focus on something else.

But Greg doesn’t answer and Mycroft supposes that’s a type of an answer too.

He takes a deep breath, still uncertain how he feels about this whole business. “You didn’t tell me,” he says and Greg has the decency to look contrite but it does little to ease the turmoil inside Mycroft’s head. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, desperation colouring his tone.

“I… I don’t know,” Greg confesses softly, avoiding his eyes, instead staring at his linked hands in front of him. “At first… I think I didn’t even notice I was doing it at first. I just-- I felt this deep connection towards you. And I… I told myself I was just looking after you, that after the hell you had been through it was the least I could do, but I… as the pack’s leader that was my duty, of course, but I also had a personal interest. I just… it took me a bit to admit it to myself.”

Well. At least Mycroft is not the only one who stumbled into a relationship  _ accidently.  _ But-- “And then?”

Greg sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. It seemed… innocent enough. I mean-- I knew what I was doing and what I wanted, but I thought… it’s not like… I just wanted to…” he takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “In all truthness, I guess I was just worried you would say no. And it seemed… I figured I’d explain, once you had settled down a bit more and maybe by then you wouldn’t be so adverse to the idea.”

“And in the meantime, you’d keep other Alphas away from me.”

Greg bites his lip. “It wasn’t… I was just… oh god,” he rubs a hand over his face. “Yes, I’d admit that was part of the plan. Making you…  _ unavailable  _ in the eyes of the rest of the pack was… I’m sorry.”

Mycroft crosses his arms in front of his chest. “There was no one else I’d be interested in, in any case,” he murmurs, because, well, that’s the true. “But I’m…  _ upset  _ you kept me in the dark about all this.”

“Yes, that’s… that wasn’t right, of course.” Greg looks at him briefly, before looking away once more. “I wasn’t planning on… I mean, I intended to explain to you what was going on, before I tried something else. The… incident with the humans threw my plans to the wind, of course, but please believe me, I wasn’t… I wouldn’t…”

“You weren’t planning on sleeping with me,” Mycroft says bluntly, although he feels his cheeks are a little hot.

Greg makes a face. “You were put in an impossible situation and I just… I realized then just how selfish I had been. I had limited your choices, I had basically left you with no other option but being with me and that… I’m so sorry.”

Mycroft considers this briefly. In truth, there was no one else he’d have wanted to share his Heat with, but he supposes Greg is right. “I do remember telling you I wanted you.”

Greg huffs. “I don’t recall your exact words, but they were along the line of it being the least terrible option.”

“I was joking,” Mycroft argues, although he recognizes that might not have been the best idea. “But you… did you… I mean, you were courting me. What exactly were you expecting would happen?”

“Well, I… I was going to tell you, I swear. I just… and after… you left and it become clear as water the feeling wasn’t as mutual as I had hoped and considering my actions I could hardly… I wanted to beg for forgiveness, for you to give a second chance even if I knew I don’t deserve it, but…”

“Greg,” Mycroft interrupts sharply, coming to stand in front of him and taking his hands in his. “That’s not… You must know I wanted you. I specifically asked Molly to get you and,” he hurries to add, seeing the Alpha is about to protest. “There’s no one else I’d rather have had.”

“But--”

“I left,” Mycroft interrupts once again, because he needs to say it now, “because I thought you were just being  _ nice.  _ I left, because I thought you didn’t really want me-- because I thought you were just looking out for me. Not because I don’t feel the same way.”

Greg is frowning now. “I… I thought you had figured… I thought I had said something that… I don’t recall the exact words, but I do recall babbling about how I loved you and wanted to claim you? why would you think...?”

_ He loves him.  _ Bloody hell.

It seems they recall very different things from his Heat. “I don’t remember that,” he confesses softly, now thinking he’d very much like to remember that. “I do remember you refused to kiss me. Or let me kiss you.”

Greg blinks a couple of times, processing that. “Oh,” he murmurs, staring at his feet once more. “Well, I… I thought it might be better to wait. Considering… everything else we were doing, it probably seems silly but I… I was trying to hold onto my plan. I had babbled a lot of things by then but I wasn’t going to push for anything and kissing you... I wanted to, believe me I did, but it seemed… I thought it was better to wait, so we could talk.”

Mycroft nods slowly. He wants to believe it, he really does and he can feel excitement bubbling up inside him. It seems he hasn’t been alone in this feeling, although-- “I’m still upset you didn’t tell me,” he says firmly, although that feeling is quickly dissipating. “I hope you understand I won’t tolerate it ever again.”

Greg is watching him with a funny expression but since Mycroft just stares back expectantly, he quickly nods. “Yes, of course,” he says earnestly. “I won’t… never again,” he promises softly, staring at their joined hands as if he can’t quite believe it. “But what…?”

Mycroft steps closer, letting go of Greg’s hands in order to wrap his arms around his partner’s shoulders. They’re close, too close and he can feel his heart attempting to escape his chest. “I’d have accepted, you know?” he murmurs huskily against Greg’s ear, enjoying the way the Alpha shivers. “If I had known you were courting me, I would have accepted it anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Greg murmurs, his own arms wrapping themselves around Mycroft’s waist. “I just… I don’t know why I acted so foolishly. And selfishly.”

Mycroft stares into his companion’s eyes, reading the truth in them. He’s not entirely convinced this is the best way to proceed, but he knows that’s what he wants to do. “Why did you come looking for me this morning?” he asks, caressing the back of Greg’s neck, enjoying the closeness he didn’t think he’d get to feel again.

“You’re going to have my pup,” Greg replies softly. “I-- I hoped it meant something but even if it didn’t… I wanted to be around. Even if you didn’t want me, I hoped you’d let me--”

“Don’t be foolish,” Mycroft interrupts. “How could I not want you?” he asks gently, pressing a soft kiss against his partner’s cheek, which makes the other man basically purr. “We could have saved each other from a lot of heartbreak if you hadn’t been entertaining such silly thoughts.”

Greg hums, rubbing his nose against Mycroft’s, his lips hovering just over the Omega’s. “I’m sorry,” he repeats earnestly and Mycroft nods. Maybe he ought to take some time to think about this, to consider the implications of what has happened, but at the end of the day…

He pulls his companion into a kiss, slow and soft and tentative and full of promise. Worrying about the past and the what ifs seems like a pointless exercise, particularly when the future looks so bright.

He eventually pulls away, if only to catch his breath, grinning like a madman and he finds a matching grin in his partner’s face.

It’s not perfect, not yet at least, but it’s a good start. 

He can’t help feeling he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I had planned for things to work out like this more or less since the beginning, but the more I wrote, the less happy I was about it. It did seem a little… manipulative, when I stopped to think about it, although I’m hoping I managed to explain it in a way that seemed less so.   
> I don’t know. I honestly don’t.  
> But well, this is it! We’ve reached the end of our tale and, as usual, I want to thank everyone who read, left kudos and/or commented. I felt like quitting a couple of times, but thanks to you I managed to soldier on and while I’m not a 100% happy with the ending, I hope it didn’t disappoint.  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


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